


A Darkness Follows

by havok2cat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Talia Hale, Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Catatonic Peter Hale, Derek Hale Lives, Dom/sub Undertones, Good Alpha Peter Hale, Laura Hale Lives, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Murder Husbands, Panic Attacks, Possessive Peter Hale, Protective Peter, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Smut, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Talia Hale Lives, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havok2cat/pseuds/havok2cat
Summary: Stiles serves his community service at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. He's assigned to a mysterious patient and finds himself quickly becoming obsessed.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all. Long time lurker, first fic. I have it all planned out. Weekly updates at minimum!  
> FYI, Stiles is 17 in the first chapter but quickly becomes 18. No romance until after!

He never did know when to quit. Stiles was rapidly losing a stare down with his father. John's face was blank, his eyes dimmed with long suffering disappointment. Stiles alternated from meeting his eyes with a guilty grimace and staring intently at his recent graduation photo on his dad's desk. It was taken last week. In the foreground, John had Stiles pulled in close, his hand ruffling his son's hair. Stiles wore a disgruntled expression but his lips quirked in a tolerant half smile. John held Stiles' graduation cap high out of his son's reach and laughed as Stiles tried in vain to snatch it back. His eyes sparkled at the camera. The background showed Melissa and Scott smiling broadly at the display. 

Stiles glanced back at John's face again. He smiled painfully at his father's continued silence and began tapping his fingers on his thigh. The standoff was killing him. He cleared his throat, once, twice.

"Ok, I know you're disappointed-"

John slashed his hand in the air, effectively cutting him off. Stiles gulped and bounced his knee, feeling awkward. John sighed and his expression pinched.

"Disappointed? Stiles, you could have been killed!"

Stiles flailed his arms and sputtered a few syllables before blurting,

"I had the situation under control!"

John raised an eyebrow. He looked far from convinced. John leaned back in his chair and pulled the papers on his desk closer. He picked up the top one and read out,

"...being pursued as I was by a ravening beast, I had no choice but to commandeer appropriate transport .."

"Yeah, you know, to SAVE MY LIFE?" Stiles flailed again. He hoped it added to his conviction.

John sighed, "Son, you know I can't file this for your official report. Talia Hale would have my head."

Alpha of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack, Talia Hale ruled with an iron fist. Even before the fire that killed most of her pack, she had been a hard ass. After, well, Stiles had had a few run ins with her himself through his misadventures. She used her intimidating aura to maximum effect. 

Stiles didn't know much about the fire. Only what he had gleaned through eavesdropping on his dad and hacking the Sheriff's work computer. His dad really needed a better password than Stiles' birth date. The fire, arson, set by persons unknown. The whole pack killed in one night except Talia, Laura and Derek Hale. No suspects. Right, like Iron Fist Alpha didn't know everything about everything in Beacon. Stiles suspected Alpha Hale planned on settling any justice sought internally. 

Stiles brought himself back to the present, his dad waiting on a response.

"I assumed this was more for you..." 

John cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He leveled his son with a softly fierce look.

"I've told you more than once to stop poking your nose into this stuff. This, this supernatural nonsense." He waved his hand, "I can't keep saving you from the consequences, Stiles." 

"I don't go looking for this stuff, dad! I swear! It just happens to me. Like I'm evil catnip! Wait... consequences?" 

John's face was no more sympathetic. He set the paper back on the desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. He held up a finger.

"One, publicly accusing Mr Harris of harassing a female student..."

"Cmon, pops! He's a creep! He's always looking way too long at the girls in class, leaning too close. I know I saw his hand where it shouldn't be!" 

"You should have come to me first, Stiles. All you did was impede an investigation." 

Stiles bit his lip. "Point." 

The sheriff held up two fingers.

"Two, swinging a bat at Jackson-"

"Mistaken identity! He shouldn't have been in those bushes, acting all suspicious!" 

"And you shouldn't have been out at 2am, what? Looking for a serial killer?" 

Stiles pounded his fist lightly on the desk.

"Three bodies, same M.O. The killer hunts at night!"

John put a hand gently over one of Stiles' fists. Stiles relaxed slightly. 

"Those were heroin overdoses, Stiles. I know Heather was a friend of yours-" 

Stiles roughly pulled his hands back and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Yes, she was a friend and she didn't do heroin!"

John stayed silent, looking at Stiles sympathetically. Stiles let his eyes fall to the floor, tracing the edges of the ugly grey tile carefully. He hadn't seen Heather in two years before they found her body. She had been his best friend in elementary school. Always bright, always accepting of his more bizarre conclusions. He hated himself for letting their friendship fizzle after she moved across town with her family, after she started homeschooling. Maybe he could have helped…

"We found evidence of long term use. And the bloodwork was conclusive. For all three teenagers. Same circle of friends, same drug use, same cause of death. What were you going to do if you caught this supposed killer, Stiles? Beat him to death?" 

"Of course not, dad! I'm no murderer! I would have incapacitated him and brought him to you!" 

His dad didn't need to know he would kill if it meant avenging Heather. Just like he would have strung Adrian Harris up by his thumbs for touching Lydia. She swore up and down after Stiles' public call out that he was mistaken. No bad touches, just trick angles. She wasn't very convincing but he let it go at her behest. They weren't super close but she had really mellowed the last two years of high school. Softening towards Stiles and his stupid obsessive crush on her. He'd moved on from his childish feelings for her but he still considered her a sort of friend. A tangential acquaintance. Someone to be protected. After her fierce insistence that she could castrate Harris herself if need be he ceded his war against Harris. For now. He was still a creep. 

Stiles slumped over in his chair. Arms dangling at his side, still tracing the tile with his eyes. When Stiles looked up again his father held up three fingers.

"Three, you stole a car, Stiles. Right in front of the owner." 

This time Stiles was slower to respond. Arguing with his dad was like banging his head on a brick wall. Usually he was up to the challenge and sometimes he even won. But tonight, he was tired. Tired of trying to help and only getting shit for it. Tired of feeling like he had a target on his back for supernatural shenanigans. Tired of feeling so damn alone. 

No one outside of Stiles and his dad knew about the Hale Pack, nemeton and a greater supernatural network. Not even Scott and Melissa knew. Hell, John was the only one on the police force that knew and only because Alpha Hale found it necessary. Too many suspicious deaths with too many weird circumstances. Stiles only knew because he couldn't stop himself from digging. Too perceptive, too curious. It felt like a curse. He suspected only his father knew his knowledge. He sure hoped the Hale Pack didn't know. A visit in the night from glowing eyes and sharp claws was something he wanted to avoid. 

"You know what happened, dad. I swear I wasn't looking for a wendigo at the movie theater. Just Scott and I chillin' like the buds we are. It came from the woods behind the parking lot. Came right at me, like it was looking for me. Thank the gods Scott had already left! I took that car because I couldn't make it to the jeep. What was I supposed to do? Wait to be eaten?"

John shuffled the papers on his desk in agitation. 

"Of course not, Stiles. I always want you to protect yourself. You're resourceful, kid. I'm proud of you for that. But..." Stiles looked up at the softness in his dad's voice, warmed by the glint of pride in his eyes. 

"But, no one understands the necessity of your actions other than a vague assurance by me that it was to save your life. Unfortunately, that's not good enough for the owner because they are pressing charges. I can't just sweep everything under the rug and not expect people to start thinking the sheriff's office is corrupt. People already say I pull too much weight to protect you which is true. And I don't regret that."

He smiled at Stiles.

"I'd move mountains to keep you safe. But this is different. I can't very well tell the owner of the car that you were running from a wendigo. That might help you but it puts the supernatural world at large in danger." 

Stiles pursed his lips. He knew his dad was right. The last thing he wanted was innocent people hurt because of him. He may consider himself morally grey but he didn't hurt innocents. What if there were people out there that hunted supernaturals indiscriminately? There had to be, right? Righteous psychos waving guns around. Torturing werewolves and others who had done nothing wrong. He'd never heard of them but he knew it had to be true. 

"You're right, pops. I'll take my knocks." 

He held his wrists together and presented them to his dad. 

"Arrest me sheriff, I won't fight!" 

***

Stiles sat inside Roscoe and sulked. He was parked outside of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, stuffing doughnut holes in his mouth. He glanced at the clock in his jeep and heaved an aggrieved sigh. Twenty minutes until showtime. 

He knew he should be grateful. He was lucky that the owner of the stolen vehicle hadn’t been belligerent and the judge of his case had been lenient. Two months to his eighteenth birthday was cutting it close to possibly being charged with a felony. His father had stood up for him in court and his lawyer had been good. All this resulted in a misdemeanor and community service. Community service that he was expected to serve at the hospital. 

"Damn, there goes my summer...cleaning bedpans and flipping over senior citizens like pancakes..." He grumbled around a mouthful. 

This would really cut into his Scott time. They had dreams of a blissful summer before Scott left for college. Pizza, video games and illegal poolside beers at the top of their to do list. They'd still get time together, of course. Stiles had been fired from the burger shack after too many missed shifts and early cut outs.

"Not my fault! Stupid goblins." 

The Hale Pack was still too small to deal with big problems. Like ravenous, man-eating goblins. It had been a week before reinforcements in the way of an allied pack had come. Stiles had been forced to do damage control, not that anyone had noticed. To Alpha Hale, Stiles was just a dumb kid with dumb luck. Always around but not a threat. Stiles smiled sharply. Too bad he wasn't a wolf. 

"I'd have sharp teeth. All the better to eat you with, Alpha Hale!" 

Talia had never even spoken to Stiles before. When Stiles had happened to be around when she met with John, she'd sneer down her nose at Stiles. He had no idea what he had done to deserve her disdain.

"Probably just my personality." 

No job, community service, Scott couldn't know about the supernatural, no college prospects...Stiles felt completely adrift. Lost at sea. How was he supposed to choose a college major when he wasn't even convinced he'd live to see the end of summer? The closer he got to eighteen, the weirder things became around him. How could he take that to a new city or new friends? 

Two loud raps on his driver side window startled him. His doughnut holes flew against the windshield and he squeezed his iced coffee, popping the lid off. Stiles swore loudly as he turned his head to glare at the asshole who- 

"Oh! Hey Ms Mcall! You didn't scare me!" 

He quickly lowered the window. Mellisa took in the food scattered over the jeep and the splashes of coffee on the steering wheel. She raised an eyebrow.

"Uh huh." 

Stiles grinned and opened up his door, jumping out energetically. He brushed off his shirt and grabbed a rag from under the seat. He started wiping off the steering wheel over enthusiastically.

"What's, uh, what u-" the car horn went off. They both flinched and Stiles threw his rag back under the seat turning his full attention to Melissa. She crossed her arms and smirked.

"You hiding out on your first day? And it's Melissa, Stiles. You're eighteen next week. A whole adult." 

Stiles rubbed the back of his head and huffed.

"I don't know about a WHOLE adult, ms- uh, Melissa. And I haven't started my day yet! Healthy breakfast and all that." 

She clapped a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. He allowed his arms to flail around and his head to lull. Melissa laughed shortly and ruffled his hair. 

"Let's go, Stiles. I'm taking point on you while your on the chain gang." 

Stiles snapped to attention and shut his driver side door. They started walking into the hospital. 

"Whoa, really. Wait, I thought you were on night shift?" 

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Scott didn't tell you? I got promoted. I'm a charge nurse now. Usually you'd report to the nurse manager but since we know each other you got punted to me." 

Stiles made an outraged sound. 

" Hey, you should feel blessed we get extra time together! Anyone else would." 

Melissa chuckled. They made their way into the hospital and past the main reception desk. 

"Just text me when you get here if we don't meet in the parking lot. Or reception can page me. You’re not on my whole shift so we will meet every morning to sort your duties and to touch base. Don't be afraid to come to me for anything, ok?" 

Stiles was nodding as they entered the elevator and Melissa pushed the fifth floor button. She turned halfway to look at him, taking in his outfit.

"You're dressed perfect, no loose clothes and no open toed shoes. I work on the fifth floor so I'll keep you there today. Eventually, you will float around where you are needed."

Stiles nodded again, "So like sponge baths and restocking bathrooms?" 

Melissa grinned, "Kinda. You'll be limited with patient care because you have zero training but everyone around here could use a helping hand." 

She turned and walked out of the elevator when it dinged and opened. He followed Melissa as she started down the long corridor. The nurses station could be seen at the end and on either side of the almost silent hallway were large white painted doors. All of them were closed and a red chart sat in black mounted wall hangers for each occupied room. 

Melissa noticed Stiles eyeing the red charts and her voice was stern, 

"Don't go poking in the patient charts, Stiles. Nothing too clinical is on the door just basics. The good stuff is at the station which will be watched carefully. You can't..." 

Stiles barely got three feet when he started to feel strange. His head became fuzzy and Melissa's voice seemed to come from further away. His vision started to tunnel and a sweet smell came to him faintly on the air. He stopped walking and shook his head trying to clear it. That smell...what was that smell. It was like...his mother's perfume?  
He gasped and black static fell over his vision, he could hear his heartbeat too loud in his ears. He could feel it, his mother's hands on his small shoulders, wrapping around and digging nails into his skin, drawing blood. Her beloved face twisted into a hateful snarl. Her breath foul against his nose. 

Her voice almost unrecognizable, "You disgusting monster! You're not my son! What have you done to him...you're not...." 

At the edge of his consciousness he felt another presence. It filtered close to him, tried to touch his mind more firmly. It held a darkness to it and a depth. It drew to Stiles' mind the smell of old books and burning woodsmoke. It felt almost sludge-like and it surrounded him trying to push as close as possible. The presence was weak but not weak willed. Stiles felt he should be afraid but he calmed slightly, calmed enough that his vision began clearing and he felt Melissa's hand pressing on his back.

He took a shuddering gasp and realized he was doubled over, hands on his knees. Nausea rose sharp and swift but he swallowed and stood up. His hands shook as he put them in his jean pockets and he grinned weakly at Melissa. She had a deep frown between her eyes and she raised her other hand to his opposite shoulder.

"Deep breaths, Stiles. That's it. Can you walk? Let's get you some water." 

He nodded and followed her to the nurses station. He felt compelled to look over his shoulder and noticed the number on the door he had broken down in front of was numbered  
506\. No red chart. 

Mellisa sat him firmly onto a soft padded chair behind the counter at the station and pressed a foam cup full of water into his shaking hand. He sipped at it and grimaced at her concerned look. He cleared his throat. 

"Right. Uh, fifth floor. Long term care..." 

Melissa's face cleared and her eyes widened a little in realization. She placed her hand on his shoulder again.

"Oh, Stiles. I'm so sorry. I didn't even think-"

"It's fine. I barely remember my mom being here. So long ago, ya know?" He lied.

He still had nightmares sometimes of the end. The confusion on her face when he visited. Eventually the violence towards him as her mind completed degenerated. His dad too drunk to notice the sly, nasty things his mother said about him. A bright, loving woman swallowed by disease. He drank more water. Melissa squeezed his shoulder. 

"Still if you're uncomfortable I can send you to a different floor."

"No, really, it's fine. The whole hospital looks the same, right? I just haven't been here since then. I'm good, though."

"Ok. I have to oversee some stuff for shift change so sit tight for a bit."

Melissa dropped her hand as a nurse approached. They stepped away to converse and Stiles took a better look around. The nurses station sat in the middle of two long corridors. Staff milled about, conversing and signing documents. The elevators dinged and two doctors exited. Business as usual. No one seemed to have noticed his episode. He threw away his empty cup and twiddled his thumbs until night shift left and Melissa returned. 

"Right, so just a few things. We aren't too busy right now with long term care patients. Don't ask the patients any clinical questions but some might volunteer. Just be polite and keep things light, ok?" She was throwing him some intense eye contact.

"Hey, I do have some tact and charm!" 

"I know. I also know you sometimes get carried away. That's why you aren't allowed in the rooms alone with patients. Always have a nurse or aid with you. This is for everyone's safety and comfort." She paused for Stiles to respond.

"Got it. Totally." He nodded emphatically putting on his best innocent expression.

She held up a finger. 

"Most importantly, do not go into room 506."

Stiles scrunched his face, still craning his neck to look at her.

"506? It doesn't have a red chart. I thought it was empty."

"No, there is a patient in there but his family asked for complete anonymity. They don't even visit him. No one but his assigned nurse, me and his doctor know everything about  
him." 

"Uh, that doesn't seem safe. Isn't he lonely or something? Bored?" 

Melissa smirked. 

"No, he's not lonely. Now no more questions." 

Stiles held up his hands, palms out in surrender.

***

The day progressed slow and boring. Stiles floated around the floor assisting nurses with menial tasks. Not once did a nurse need help in 506. He was pretty sure the suspense would kill him. How could Melissa dangle that story in front of him? She knew him almost as well as his dad. Did she want him to go in there? Or did she suddenly forget his obsessive nature. He was pretty sure being a whole ass adult wouldn't cure him of that. 

Also, what had been that dark presence he felt outside 506? Was someone supernatural in there? Did they help him somehow? Why the hell did no one visit them? How long had they been there? 

All day different doors were propped open and Stiles could glance inside, make eye contact with a patient, smile politely. Never 506. He watched hospital personnel go into the room but they didn't stay long. 

After hours of only thinking about the mysterious patient in 506, he knew he had to go in there. He was practically obligated. He would go in, see if he could determine their supernatural status and thank them. In, out, boom. No harm done. Whoever was in there had to be dying of boredom. They would welcome him, surely.  
Ok, he had his objective. How was he supposed to achieve it? Would the door be locked? That didn't seem safe. Stiles went to the supply closet and grabbed a broom. He started absentmindedly sweeping the corridor starting by the elevator. 

His time was almost up for the day. He had to get in that damn room or he wouldn't sleep the two days until his next shift. Maybe he should take some time, strategize. He shook his head. No way. The corridor was empty, most of the nurses were busy in the rooms or doing paper work with their backs to him at the station. The stars were aligned as he swept his way in front of 506. 

He kept the broom moving one handed to make sound and carefully put his hand on the door handle. His hand shook slightly. Why the hell was he so nervous? He could feel it this close to the door, that darkness. It seemed to growl in the back of his mind, reaching thin tendrils towards him. Definitely supernatural. Nothing human he had been around had felt like this. Usually humans didn't feel like much, just a soft awareness near him. This was almost overwhelming him, demanding his attention.  
The knob twisted under his hand and he slowly started pushing it open. The growl turned into a soft purr. It sounded pleased to Stiles. He opened the door just enough to slip in, bringing the broom with him. He turned towards the door on the other side of it and gently guided it closed. Once shut, he set his head against it and his shoulders relaxed in a slump. 

The only sounds in the room behind him were a soft beeping and his own jagged breathing. He felt nervous to turn around. This felt monumental, a no turning back kind of situation. He set the broom handle against the wall next to his head and clutched the neck of his shirt. His heart beat under his fist. His other hand let go off the knob and he forced himself to slowly turn around. 

It was a standard hospital room as far as he could tell. Cream colored walls, blue accents, a night stand, a bathroom and a bed. Stiles stayed pressed against the door. Held in place by the dark atmosphere. It pressed into his mind, heavy and thick. He felt smothered but...safe. Held close and pressed down. He could relax here in this room. His whirling thought slowed and his eyes fell softly shut. His breathing deepened and he felt floaty. He felt...nice.  
Slowly, the darkness retreated just enough for him to open his eyes. They fell upon the bed and he saw a man lying there. Stiles inched forward, never taking his eyes from the man. The man lay on his back, utterly still, arms at his side above the tucked in comforter. He was breathing on his own, only a small set of tubes leading to his nose pushing oxygen. The machines beeped, displaying vital signs and pushing fluids. Most of the man's face had severe burn scars and they looked years old. They twisted the right side of his face into a permanent snarl. His brown hair unkempt and a little too long. 

Stiles came to hover over the man and startled to realize his blue eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. The darkness was so strong, still purring in the back of his mind. It compelled Stiles to reach out with his hand. It felt like slow motion as he got closer to the unburned left side, his fingers ready to brush along the stubbled chin. 

"What are you doing here? Peter doesn't get visitors." 

Stiles jerked his hand back at the sharp female voice and choked on the pooling spit in his mouth. He turned too fast and almost fell on top of the man in the bed. He waved his arms and caught himself looking at the woman in the doorway. He hadn't heard the door open. 

"Who are you?" He blurted out.

The woman's frown grew and she gestured to her scrubs.

"I'm a nurse. Peter's nurse. Get out before I tell Melissa I caught you in here." 

She jerked her thumb behind her to the corridor and stepped to the side crossing her arms. She lifted an eyebrow as Stiles hesitated. 

Stiles glanced back at Peter and bit his lip. The darkness seemed agitated but Stiles forced himself from the man. He walked out the door and turned to address the nurse,

"Right, sorry. Wrong room. I'll just-" 

The door shut in his face and Stiles stood a moment, mouth open and indecisive. The presence in his mind was abruptly cut off on this side of the door and Stiles felt empty and lost. 

"What the hell is happening?" He mumbled.


	2. Chapter Two

Stiles still didn't sleep the next two days. There was too much to process, too many loose threads. He imagined they floated around him, lightly brushing his skin, always on the periphery, taunting. 

He ate and thought about Peter. He watched TV and thought about Peter. He sat in bed, wide awake and thought about Peter. No distraction he tried made his thoughts turn from the mysterious man. 

Stiles could still call to mind the dark presence pressing in on his mind. He wanted to fall into it. Wanted to mentally roll around in it, coat himself completely. He wanted to sink so far into that darkness that no one could ever remove it from him. It was scary, feeling this way. 

Shouldn't he feel more cautious? Stiles had no idea who this man was or even if the darkness was some kind of extension of Peter. The idea of the darkness and Peter being the same felt like the right conclusion. Stiles felt the truth of it deep within himself. It wasn't some demon possession of Peter's catatonic body. Somehow, Peter was reaching out to Stiles and Stiles wanted to reach back. 

It was tempting to solve the mystery of Peter by going to the Sheriff's office. He could bluff his way into his dad's office, access police records. There was no way that what happened to Peter was an accident. The darkness was too agitated, too hungry. Something traumatic happened to Peter and Stiles was sure someone else was responsible.   
Was that what Peter wanted from him? A tool for revenge? Was his soul lingering in that hospital room searching for a way to exact his pound of flesh? 

Stiles knew he himself was special, extra human. He felt things no one else did, saw the world a little different and he seemed to be on the menu of every evil supernatural being. Stiles also knew that Peter was supernatural. He felt it, knew it. If only he had access to some kind of bestiary. 

In the end, Stiles decided snooping around wouldn't be an option. His dad had been exceptionally tolerant with Stiles and his knack for finding trouble but there was only so far his dad's understanding would stretch. Catching Stiles poking around police files for a catatonic patient would snap something between them. Stiles should keep under the radar as much as possible. At least until he served his punishment. 

***

It was with immense relief that Stiles entered the hospital two days later. He felt jittery, nervous, kinda nauseous. As soon as he stepped out onto the fifth floor, Stiles felt like a rope had been looped around his stomach. It pulled taut and seemed to will him further down the corridor. He knew where it would lead him. The numbers 506 seemed to burn into his eyes but he forced himself past the closed door and to the nurses station and a waiting Melissa. 

"Good news! I've nominated you for something different the next few weeks."

Melissa threw an arm around Stiles' shoulder and led him behind the counter and shoved him down into a chair. She slapped a stack of papers down and placed a pen on top. 

"Uh...You're Melissa, right? I'm not, like, signing my soul to the devil?" 

Stiles squinted up at her and picked up the pen, clicking it on and off a few times. Melissa rolled her eyes. 

"Noooo. It's a new program we are initiating and I think you have the perfect social skills for it." 

She nudged the papers towards him and he glanced at the official looking title of the first page. He did a double take and started to read in earnest. Melissa patiently waited. 

"So, you want me to...sit with the patients. What, entertain them with jokes? What skills are you talking about?" 

Melissa scoffed. 

"You're a voracious reader slash researcher, you can talk endlessly about topics you are passionate about and you can be super charming in a hot mess kind of way. That's only a few examples. You could really add some color to these white walls." 

She quickly backtracked, "Not too much excitement, though. This is a place to heal and relax. A little mental stimulation can help the process."

Stiles spun the pen between his fingers over and over. He eyed Melissa out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. 

"What about that room 506 guy? Seems like he needs me, what with having no family." 

His forced nonchalance seemed wasted. A sardonic look came over Melissa's features. 

"Funny you should mention that particular patient. His nurse, Jennifer, really pushed for him to be a part of the program. She even mentioned you by name for it. In fact, she was insistent that you sit with Peter as soon as possible. Do I want to know why?" 

Stiles laughed hollowly. 

"That's super weird. I'd tell you if I knew why." 

What the fuck? Did he roll out of bed into an alternate dimension where everything he wanted fell into his lap. Stiles' stomach swooped when he thought of uninterrupted time in that room with Peter, with the darkness. Fuck it. 

"This sounds neato, Melissa. Where do I sign?"

***

Signing the documents and reviewing the ground rules for patient-Stiles interaction took a couple of hours. He was practically vibrating with repressed excitement as Melissa led him to room 506. She put her hand on the door knob and paused, turning to him.

“Ok, I know we went over Peter’s condition specifically but you might want to brace yourself. It might be...uncomfortable...at first to see him wide awake but unresponsive.” 

Stiles nodded seriously, pretending to take her advice. It seemed Jennifer had not mentioned that Stiles had went directly against Melissa and already “met” Peter. 

“Don't worry, I won't judge a man for something he can’t control.”

Melissa smiled at him and turned back to the door, opening it quietly. Melissa had informed Stiles that sometimes Peter seemed to respond to certain physical and aural stimulus. Peter had historically had no reaction to his environment. It had been years of slow physical healing and no indication that he was regaining mental awareness. It was one reason Peter had been a prime candidate for the program. 

Peter’s dark presence surrounded Stiles as soon as he stepped into the room. Stiles imagined it seemed eager to feel him. It swirled around him, touching only briefly, before settling against the back of his awareness. Stiles imagined it crouched in the corner of the room, silent and watchful. Stiles was flattered by Peter’s regard and felt the back of his neck flush at the attention. 

Peter was in a chair today and sat facing the large window that looked onto the woods behind the hospital. From where he was standing by the door, Stiles could barely see the tops of the trees moving gracefully in an invisible breeze. The sky was blue and the sun lit up the room. 

Melissa laid a hand on Stiles’ arm and urged him across the room and behind Peter. Mellisa left him there and walked around Peter’s still form to stand in front of the man. 

“Hello, Peter, It’s Melissa. We officially met the other day. I told you about the program to have someone sit with you? Anyway, I have Stiles here to meet you.” 

She looked past Peter and met Stiles’ eye. She gestured him to move forward. Peter’s eyes were staring blankly out the window, seeming to catch on nothing. Stiles placed himself firmly in front of Peter and smiled weakly. He waved his hand.

“Heyyy, um, Peter. I’m Stiles. It's nice to meet you.” 

Stiles startled when the darkness began to purr. Stiles could still feel it but it stayed invisible to the naked eye. It shifted from the corner of the room and tried to touch him again but drew back. Stiles imagined it was weak, frustrated with its failure. 

Melissa started backing out of the room and gave Stiles two thumbs up before disappearing down the corridor. The door was left open. Stiles refocused on Peter’s wide, staring eyes. 

Before he could think of something else to say, Jennifer swept into the room, carrying a stack of books and magazines. The purr in Stiles mind cut off abruptly and he could feel it focus intently on the nurse. She rolled her eyes upon noticing his presence in the room and emptied the items in her arms on the bed. They bounced around and settled into a messy heap. 

“These are for you. Since you're obviously not prepared for today, you can read these to Peter.” 

Stiles frowned, offended. 

“I literally found out two hours ago this was happening. Believe me, I would have so much cool stuff to do if-” 

Jennifer waved her hand in the air. 

“Whatever, Steve. I got these for you so use them. Make sure you are prepared next time.” 

That earned a growl from the darkness. Stiles frowned, mildly offended and a little amused at her attitude. Who put salt in her coffee? 

“You don't seem to like me much. Why did you want me to sit with Peter?”

Jennifer shifted from one foot to the other and cast a nervous glance to the corner the darkness occupied. Stiles raised both eyebrows in shock. Could she sense the darkness? 

She looked back to Stiles and crossed her arms, frowning. 

“You're just convenient, Steve. Don't get too comfortable with Peter…” She trailed off. The darkness was growing more and more agitated. She uncrossed her arms and power walked to the door. 

“Anyway, I’m busy. I’ll have an aid bring lunch in an hour but I will be checking in now and then.”   
She didn't even look back. 

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip and looked back down to Peter sitting before him. He met Peter’s blue eyes as well as he could. 

“Oooook, that was odd.” 

Stiles clapped his hands together and Peter gave a small flinch. Stiles’ breath caught and he winced in sympathy. 

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive.” 

Peter, of course, didn’t respond. Stiles took courage from the fact that the darkness didn’t seem angry and made his way over to the bed. He spread the reading materials out and hummed as he took in the titles. 

“Pretty sure she got these from the book store in the lobby. Mostly trash but-” Stiles let out a mock gasp, “look at this! A classic horror short story anthology! We are gonna have much fun!” 

Stiles picked up the large hard backed book and went back to Peter. He picked up the only other chair in the room and moved it closer to Peter, careful not to drag it. He sat next to Peter but kept enough space between to not touch. They both faced the window. Stiles opened the book to the index and ran his finger down the text as he scanned the short story titles. 

“Oh, wow, The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman! I just listened to a podcast about this.” 

Stiles flipped to the appropriate page with barely suppressed glee and began to read out loud. The comfortable atmosphere in the room was only enhanced by a pleased purring. 

***

The day went too fast for Stiles. He lost himself in reading out loud to Peter, only taking breaks to allow the hospital staff time and room to do their jobs. Some of the short stories grew boring, too slow paced and Stiles skipped around some to the good parts. Both Peter and his darkness didn’t seem to mind. 

It was only when the sun began to set below the window and Jennifer came in to transfer Peter to his bed that Stiles realized how long he had stayed. He looked at the cheap wall clock in the room and was startled to see it was well after dinner time. He looked over at Jennifer as she and an aid fussed over Peter’s bedclothes. 

“I didn't realize how late it was. Why didn't you kick me out?” 

Jennifer barely glanced over at him as she replied,

“I don't think you would have noticed had i tried to kick you out.”

Stiles flushed and the darkness felt amused. He gathered the reading materials and stacked them on the floor well out of the way. He resolved to bring his own books next time. 

“Next time I come in here, you better be gone.” Jennifer didn't stay for reply. 

“Geez, she’s difficult to like.” 

Stiles said loud enough for Peter to hear, if he could hear. He walked over the bed and felt awkward, looming over Peter. He fiddled with the edge of the blanket, right by Peter’s hand. 

“It’s Friday today. Just, you know, in case no one told you. And my next shift is Tuesday so...I’ll see you then.” Stiles cleared his throat, reluctant to leave. 

“Oh, and it’s my birthday Monday! Eighteen, kind of a milestone, ya know. Anyway, nothing big planned just dinner with my dad…” 

Stiles stayed way too long chatting at Peter and Jennifer had to remove him physically from the room an hour later. 

***

Stiles awoke in pain at midnight Sunday night, technically Monday morning. The pain felt like a hot knife digging into his skin. It was hard to pinpoint the origin, an all over pain. He writhed in his bed and fought back a scream. He felt feverish and every breath felt like needles in his throat. 

It felt like hours later that the pain left Stiles as suddenly as it had appeared. He lay panting and dry mouthed and so confused. He curled into himself, closing his eyes, trying to gather his bearings. 

As his breathing evened and his mind regrouped, Stiles noticed...more. He heard the normal creaks of a settling house and past that the chirruping chorus of bugs in the yard outside. 

Then he heard more, the groans of the trees in the backyard, the soft whisper of leaves, the pattering of soft paws on the pine needle layered ground. Stiles strained himself to hear more and he did. 

Further into the forest the faint tinkling of a moving stream that led to a small river. The sounds of a group of deer drinking from the river. Then Stiles realized he could smell more too. The grass, the pine needles, the musk of animals. 

Stiles could sense the sun beginning to rise, the contentment of the deer and under all of that he could sense something deeper. A connection that filled him with such a sense of power that he gasped and his eyes flew open in shock, bringing his senses back into his mortal body. 

He knew instantly, instinctively that he had felt the power of the earth, itself. The power of nature. The sky, the water, the trees and animals. All that power swirling around everyone, everything and he could feel it, deep inside. 

Stiles laughed hoarsely and sat up in his bed. His clothes clung, sweat soaked to his body, his hair plastered to his forehead. He was weak and shaking, sore and parched. He ran a weak hand through his hair to slick it back.

As Stiles settled himself more comfortably, back against the bed frame, knees drawn to his chest, a swirling black smoke caught the corner of his right eye. He snapped his head around, panic seeping its way over his tired mind. It was closer than he realized and the blackness reached out two tendrils to touch his arm. The scream Stiles felt building died in his throat. With that soft, cold touch he realized he recognized it’s owner. 

“Peter?” 

His voice was a hesitant whisper. The darkness surged toward him. Sliding it’s tendrils around the back of his neck and shoulders. It was Peter and Stiles could feel the darkness, see it. It was no longer a soft presence at the back of his mind. It had nuances, Stiles could perceive shapes and intentions in it’s soft undulating. The touch on the back of his neck became more firm and to Stiles it felt like a comforting hand. A touch often given to him by his father. It settled him immediately and he turned to the billowing smoke pressed into his side. 

“Peter, oh god, what the fuck is happening to me? How are you here, how did you find me? I can see you. Fuck, I can hear the worms crawling in the ground!” 

His breath came faster and he felt hot. Too hot. Damn it, he couldn’t breath. Tears burned his eyes and he bit his lip hard, drawing blood, trying to calm down.   
The darkness became heavier on his skin, more like slime that smoke. The tendrils on his nape slithered to the front of his neck and pressed. Stiles allowed the darkness to bear him onto his back and he straightened out his legs. It covered him, sliding over his chest, keeping a weight on his neck.   
Stiles felt grounded, safe and his overwhelmed senses dulled. 

The darkness started to purr and the vibration and sound instantly drained the tension from Stiles’ body. As Stiles drifted into unconsciousness, the feeling of a rope around his stomach came to him. It pulled taut and Stiles imagined the other end led to Peter. 

***

Tuesday found Stiles sitting in the parking lot of the hospital, hesitant to go in and start his day. When he had woken up Monday afternoon, well rested, the darkness had been gone. It hadn’t visited him again that night. Stiles had half expected it to, had even looked forward to it. Would the darkness be in the room again? Watching like last week?

He still felt the link to Peter, the one that felt like a rope around his stomach. It was always there now but grew faint the further he was from the hospital. He could feel it stronger now. What was it? Why had the darkness come to him when he was in pain? Had it followed him home and he was only able to sense it after his episode? Too many questions and no one to ask. Stiles wished the darkness could talk or Peter. Peter would be better. 

Stiles forced himself to walk into the hospital. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the caution sign in the lobby and his feet slipped on the wet floor. 

“Ah!” 

Stiles windmilled his arms but he was too overbalanced to catch himself. He braced to meet the floor in an embarrassing display but his descent was stopped by a pair of strong arms. Stiles’ hands landed on firm, muscular biceps and his legs tangled with another set. 

“Whoa, nelly!” 

The voice was lilting and bright and Stiles shivered. He dumbly raised his head to catch the eyes of his savior and the arms around him tightened slightly. The man smiled, teeth blindly white and the edges of his bright blue eyes crinkled. 

“You ok, there?” 

When Stiles didn’t respond right away, the man frowned in concern and deep grooves appeared between his eyebrows. The man’s muscles bunched as he pulled them to stand upright. The man’s fingers lingered a little too long on Stiles’ arms as he let go, dragging them across his skin. 

Stiles’ new senses allowed him to detect a smell left on his skin by the man’s fingers. It drew to his mind his father...gunpowder? Then underneath that a faint floral scent reached Stiles. He couldn’t place it but it made his heart beat a little faster. 

Unsure of his reactions, Stiles shook them off. He noticed his hands were a little sweaty and he wiped them on his pant legs. 

“My hero!” 

Stiles laughed nervously and cursed himself. A gorgeous man rescues him from falling and he’s an awkward idiot. The man didn’t seem put off by Stiles and pretended to brace for Stiles to fall again. 

“I’m always ready to catch a cutie!” 

The man dropped his stance and straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, the sun caught on his dark blond hair. Stiles released a breath he had been holding and relaxed a bit. He wasn’t the only idiot in this exchange. 

Wait...the guy thought he was cute? Before Stiles could find a flirty response the man held out a hand. Large palms, long tapered fingers, calluses. His hands called to mind a gun. His new senses telling him the man’s hobbies? Weird… 

“I’m Kevin. I’m a nurse here on the fifth floor. Well, I mean, I just got transferred to long term care. I’ve seen you around recently. Do you volunteer at the hospital? Visiting family? Wait I recognize you, is Sheriff Stilinski your dad?” 

Faint alarm bells sounded in Stiles’ head. Was Kevin fishing for information or just flirting? Maybe Stiles was bad at flirting. Maybe this guy was suspicious. Stiles grabbed   
Kevin’s hand firmly. 

“Ah, I’m a...volunteer in long term care. Gonna be sitting with patients.” 

If this guy wanted information, he was gonna have to work for it. Kevin’s face lit up in realization. 

“Oh, yeah, Melissa was telling me about that yesterday. You’re Stiles, right?”

Kevin still hadn’t let go of Stiles’ hand. Should he be concerned? This guy was a little intense. They were practically holding hands in the hospital lobby. Stiles looked around but no one was paying them any attention. He removed his hand from Kevin’s and inched towards the elevator. 

“Yes, right, I’m Stiles. I should really go up…” 

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and walked backwards. Kevin laughed. He laid a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to halt his escape. His blue eyes gleamed and sparkled. 

“Listen, I’m doing a coffee run. Want anything?” He held out a piece of torn off paper and a pen. Stiles took it and saw ten different coffee orders on it. 

“Yeah, thanks, man.” 

Stiles wrote down his order and Kevin seemed way too happy to receive it.

***

Stiles felt any lingering tension from his encounter with Kevin leave his body when he stepped into Peter’s room. Peter was still tucked into bed but the bed was raised to prop up his back. He was listing a bit sideways and Stiles went to closet and removed two extra pillows. 

“Morning, Peter! It’s Tuesday and I’m here to sit with you again. Aren’t you excited?”

Stiles could feel the darkness under the bed. As he came to stand next to Peter, the darkness reached out thin tendrils and wrapped around his ankle. He could see it and felt the coldness of the touch on his skin. Stiles was instantly comforted and he smiled softly. 

“I missed you too, Peter. Here, why don’t I help you get into a better position.” 

Stiles wrapped an arm around Peter’s upper back and braced him forward a little to slip the two pillows behind him. He gently laid him backwards again and leaned across Peter to fluff the pillows. He felt Peter’s face press into his shoulder and without warning the darkness violently tightened its hold on his ankle. 

Stiles startled, jumped back and tried to shake its hold. The darkness didn’t release him, only followed him back. It billowed out from under the bed and rose up and grew. It was taller than Stiles when it stopped growing up and started growing out, undulating madly. 

The air was tight in Stiles’ lungs and the atmosphere in the room was oppressive. Stiles could make out an animalistic face in the smoke, wolf-like in appearance. It snarled and snapped and Stiles, for the first time, was scared of the darkness. His heart started beating and his breathing grew jagged. He held his hands in front of him, palms forward in silent supplication. 

“Please, stop. You’re scaring me. Peter…”

His voice came out breathy and barely above a whisper. Stiles was suddenly aware that he had closed the door. No one would see the darkness, no one would help him. His vision grew dim and he stared at the darkness through a tunnel. Stiles didn’t dare look away, not even while he was falling apart. 

A sob tore from him and the snarling paused. An awareness seemed to reach it and the violent undulating stopped, the tendrils loosened from his legs. The darkness shrank and retreated back under the bed. 

Stiles drew in a gasping breath and collapsed to sit on the bed next to Peter. He put his head between his knees and closed his eyes. What the fuck was that? 

A knock on the door had him leaping from the bed. He smoothed down his clothes and schooled his features into something not resembling pure terror as someone turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

“Helooooo, got your coffee!”

It was Kevin. He stood there with a blinding smile, an iced coffee in each hand and started to enter the room. As soon as Kevin crossed the threshold, the darkness melted back out from under the bed. It tried to surround Kevin but seemed unable to touch him. The wolf face appeared and started snarling and snapping in impotent rage. Kevin seemed completely ignorant. 

Stiles stepped forward to accept the coffee. The darkness moved too late to intercept him as Stiles quickly herded Kevin from the room. 

“Oh, wow, thanks man. I really needed a pick me up. You’re a life saver!”

Stiles got Kevin out of the room and blocked the threshold, effectively putting his body between the darkness and the nurse. Kevin seemed reluctant to leave and lingered in the corridor awkwardly. 

“Uh, listen, I was hoping you would want to go to lunch today with me. Or, you know, sometime this week?” 

Kevin’s eyes were wide and he had an embarrassed grimace on his face. He looked pathetic and hopeful and Stiles was such a pushover. Stiles looked down and traced the rim of his coffee and pulled and pushed the straw in and out of its hole. 

When he looked back up at Kevin, he saw amusement and something else flash over Kevin’s face. Annoyance? That wasn’t an unusual reaction to Stiles but he felt it was inappropriate for asking Stiles on a date. 

Stiles pretended to consider the offer a little too long and, yep, there is was again. Definitely annoyance. Well, fuck you buddy. He squared his shoulders and met Kevin eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe later this week. Or next week. I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.” 

“Ok, cool, great. See you later.”

“Yep.” 

Stiles shut the door in Kevin’s smiling face and paced back over to Peter. He could feel the darkness shadowing him but he didn’t turn to look at it as he stopped next to Peter’s bed. It was ominously silent. Peter stared out into the room and drool dripped from the scarred right side of his lips. Stiles grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside table and blotted Peter’s lips. 

As he moved his arm the scent of florals and gunpowder reached his nose. Stiles’ eyes widened in realization. He slowly turned around and faced the darkness. The wolf face was still there but this time it was at eye level. The atmosphere in the room was still oppressive and Stiles’ heart was still beating a little too fast. He met the wolf head on. 

“Did you smell Kevin on me, Peter?”

The darkness growled and moved restlessly. It moved even closer and reached a tendril towards Stiles. It hesitated when Stiles went to pull back. Stiles swallowed nervously and forced himself still, holding his breath. It reached out again and ran over his cheek. When Stiles didn’t reject the touch, the darkness began mapping out his features with a soft pressure. 

After a few minutes, it retracted itself and Stiles let out his breath in a loud rush. He turned from the darkness and back to Peter. After a slight hesitation, he reached out and took Peter’s right hand in his. Stiles ran his thumb over the raised burn scars on the back of Peter’s hand and sat down sideways on the bed to face Peter. 

“I’m not an idiot, Peter. That guy is a total weirdo. I can’t be charmed by just a pretty face, you know. But...thanks, for being worried. Don’t get me wrong, you scared the crap out of me. Don’t you fucking dare do that again.”

Stiles felt the darkness drape itself over his shoulders in a comforting embrace and sighed. 

“My big, bad wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dustin Milligan is who I imagine for Kevin.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! I love hearing from y'all but I don't want to clog up the comments with responses so come visit me on tumblr if you want to ask anything or just chat!

Stiles had an extra shirt in the jeep that he decided to change into. He also washed his hands thoroughly and was thankful to notice the smell of Kevin was completely removed from his person. The darkness also seemed pleased. 

He smiled to himself as he performed these actions and felt a burst of affection for Peter and the darkness. Stiles was starting to consider that Peter wanted him for more than a way to exact vengeance. As far as Stiles could see, Peter could only communicate with Stiles.   
A few times it seemed like the darkness could impart a faint feeling in someone.   
Mostly, Stiles noticed this with Jennifer. Perhaps with prolonged exposure, a sixth sense was exercised to the point of awareness. Occasionally, Jennifer seemed to sense the darkness, or perhaps just a heavier atmosphere. She always reacted with fear and left the room as soon as possible. 

It gave Stiles a possessive thrill to monopolize Peter and his darkness. It was a secret only they shared. It made Stiles feel smug every time Jennifer entered the room and pursed her lips, frowning to see Stiles there. Stiles was the one who spent most days with Peter and Stiles was the one Peter had a special bond with. An invisible rope that connected them. 

The next three weeks passed in a strict routine for Stiles. He spent time with Scott and his dad, enjoying the summer. Always in the back of his mind was Peter. The days not spent in Peter’s company, Stiles explored his new senses and his new connection to Peter.   
Stiles made endless lists of his observations, physical lists on paper of his abilities. These papers he kept in a flat safe under his bed. Mostly, Stiles explored his enhanced senses, seeing how far he could stretch his awareness. 

He sat in his room and imagined his awareness as a fishing net. He “threw” the net as far as he was able and imagined dragging observations back to himself.   
It took six days of almost constant “fishing” with his net before he found a rhythm. He would wait to be alone in the house and take every fan to his room. Stiles would stack pillows on the floor and set up three large box fans around him, all pointed away. The white noise created helped him concentrate and he had trained himself to relax almost instantly at the sound. Once relaxed, it was easy for Stiles to form his mental net. Relax, form net, cast out, reel in, absorb. 

A natural rhythm developed and by the second week, Stiles found himself reeling in more than scents, sounds and smells. What came to him more and more often were...feelings. Not feelings of people or animals but feelings from plants. The trees especially greeted his “net” with excitement and warm affection, as if they were greeting an old friend. 

Stiles found this much more worth his experimentations and began only focusing on his bizarre and exciting connection with plants and trees. His days away from Peter consisted of hiking through the extensive forests that surrounded Beacon Hills and furious google searches. 

Stiles knew realistically that anything he found on the internet about his powers should be absorbed with extreme skepticism but he still couldn't stop himself from indulging his speculations. According to google he could be anything from a witch to a demon. After too many dead end frustrations, Stiles abandoned the internet and continued with his lists.

He made mental lists about Peter. Stiles didn’t want to risk Peter’s safety in some way by putting his observations to paper. Paranoid? Probably, but Stiles was not willing to risk Peter. He was too vulnerable and Stiles felt compelled to protect him. 

Stiles catalogued every reaction Peter had to stimulus and found they were increasing. Peter now reacted to light, smell and sound. On the days Stiles spent at the hospital, Peter seemed to move more. More often than not, upon entering the room, Stiles would have to help Peter back into a comfortable position he had slid out of. 

It made Stiles tremble with excitement to think of it. Was Peter getting better? He tried to grill Melissa on Peter’s medical status and personal history but she never wavered. Stiles had shown his hand with his interest of Peter’s records because Melissa made sure that Stiles was monitored any time he visited the nurses station. 

***

Stiles was leaving the hospital one day, stewing over his latest failure to get alone time with a hospital computer, and he passed Talia Hale in the lobby. Well, he didn’t so much pass her as he saw her from across the room and ducked down behind three potted plants before she could notice him. Stiles had no idea what made him hide and observe her but it felt imperative that he do so. He listened to his newly heightened instincts and cast his mental net toward her. 

She was flanked by a young man and a young woman, arguing animatedly with the receptionist. Stiles recognized Laura Hale but not the young man with Talia. Derek? What were the Hales doing at the hospital? His net caught the argument.

“I demand to speak to the head of this stupid program!” 

Talia was waving around a piece of paper and her frown was thunderous. The receptionist was growing more and more intimidated, flinching as Talia leaned closer and practically growled,

“I had to find out about a major change in my brother’s care through the mail! Why the hell was I not consulted first?” 

Stiles started to feel a little dizzy. Talia had a brother? Talia grabbed the phone from the receptionist’s hand and slammed in onto the receiver. 

“Go up to long term care your damn self and find me someone to talk to!”

Stiles gasped and stood unsteadily from his crouched position. He caught the attention of the young man with Talia but Stiles turned and stumbled out to the parking lot. He numbly walked to his jeep and climbed in and proceeded to drive away in a daze. It was only as he pulled into the parking spot for his favorite hiking trail that the shock wore off. 

Stiles stumbled into the woods and closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. It was a hot day but the canopy protected Stiles from the worst of the heat. The trees greeted him and he sent some of his panic out of his body. Stiles imagined it flowed down through his legs and into the soil. He was fine, here in the woods, protected.   
Stiles considered the facts. Fact one, Talia had a brother in long term care, one that no one knew existed. As far as all of Beacon Hills was aware, only three people survived the Hale fire. Fact two, Peter had been in long term care for years and he had extensive burns all over the right side of his body. Fact three, Peter had family somewhere that never visited and kept his records as tightly monitored as possible. But the most damning fact of all was that the darkness had taken on wolf features when highly stressed. 

Stiles laughed to himself a bit hysterically and leaned heavily against the nearest tree. It felt so obvious now that he knew. If he hadn’t been so distracted with his new powers, Stiles would have connected the dots sooner about Peter’s identity. Stiles resolutely made his way back to the jeep and started driving home. He had extensive research to do on Peter fucking Hale and werewolves. 

***

An hour later found Stiles sitting in his room at his desk with papers strewn everywhere. He was scrambling to recall everything he had overheard Talia mention about being a werewolf to his dad. 

In the beginning, she had found it pertinent to inform John of the highlights of pack life. Especially right after the fire, Talia had needed understanding allies. The decimation of the local pack, who served as protectors for the land, could send Beacon Hills into chaos. 

“It sure as shit did,” Stiles mumbled with a pen in his mouth. 

Was pack weakness the only reason for the increased supernatural trouble? Stiles had a feeling some of it was related to his extra...ness. Stiles faintly remembered Talia speaking about a nemeton in the woods in the pack preserve. An ancient magic tree sounded right up his alley. 

Stiles sighed and threw the pen down, it skittered across his desk. He sat back in his chair and started worrying his lip with his fingers. There were too many leads, too many things to consider and follow up on…

Stiles glanced at the window and took in the soft light from the setting sun. The rope feeling around his middle pulled slightly and Stiles jumped in surprise. That had never happened before. Stiles was convinced the rope led to Peter and after ruminating on all the things Talia told John about pack life, Stiles had a feeling he knew what to call the connection. A pack bond. 

Stiles shook his head and dropped his hand from his mouth. It landed lifelessly in his lap and Stiles continued to stare out the window. Could a pack bond between Peter and himself be possible? Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. Stiles was halfway convinced he wasn’t even human. What led to a pack bond? A bite between Alpha and Beta? The Hale Pack were born wolves. Did the bloodline contain the pack bond? 

Stiles jumped as the bond snapped again. What the fuck? Was Peter in trouble? Hurt? Had something happened? Stiles cursed as he jumped up and frantically started looking for his pants. He needed to see Peter. 

***

Stiles used the employee entrance to the hospital when he arrived to avoid any lingering werewolves in the lobby. He headed straight to Peter’s room and didn’t meet any resistance. Opening the door and seeing the room empty of anyone but Peter was a huge relief. 

“Peter,” the name came out as a slight whimper.

Peter lay quietly in bed, the blankets tucked around him. His eyes are closed and his breathing even. Stiles walked over to him and collapsed into the chair next to the bed. He gazed intently at Peter and shuffled the chair as close as possible. 

Stiles laid his head down on the bed and pressed the top of it into Peter’s side. He grabbed Peter’s hand and kissed the scarred knuckles. He entwined their fingers together and tried not to cry. The bond was silent and Peter was safe, Stiles was safe, here with Peter.

“I...Peter, I’m so tired and confused and, and, god, Peter.”

Stiles squeezed Peter’s fingers, pressing the knuckles to his forehead. He closed his eyes, throat feeling tight. He thought for sure that something had happened to Peter when he felt the bond snap tight between them. 

Stiles took a deep breath and concentrated on Peter’s scent. Below the smell of the hospital, Stiles could still make out a smell that was all Peter. It comforted Stiles, assured him that Peter was there, alive, breathing. Peter hadn’t left him yet. 

Stiles kept his eyes closed and imagined a world where Peter was awake, his blue eyes focused on Stiles as they talked. What did Peter’s voice sound like? What did his eyes look like full of affection and maybe, if Stiles could really dream of the impossible, desire? Stiles shook those thoughts away and opened his eyes to take in Peter’s unresponsive face. He reached out and ran a finger over each closed eyelid and down one cheek and then the other. Peter remained still. Stiles sat up in his chair but kept their fingers wound together. 

“I figured out who you are. By complete fucking accident by the way. I was convinced that I’d have to break into my dad’s files at the sheriff’s office. Try to find you that way. And then there was Talia screaming at a receptionist in the lobby about her brother.” 

Stiles let out a weak laugh and brought his other hand to Peter’s wrist to run his fingers over the scars there, lost in thought. 

“There is too much going on Peter. My new powers...I have no fucking clue what I am. I don’t even know how to start figuring it out. I mean talking to trees, increased senses? What the fuck, ya know.” 

Peter remained silent. Stiles fought back tears again. 

“And knowing you’re a werewolf, part of the Hale pack. Shouldn’t you have healed by now? It’s been years since the fire, Peter. I’d ask Talia but...I don’t trust her. Talia, Laura and Derek are still living in Beacon Hills but they never come to see you. The staff say you’ve never had visitors! I overheard Talia complaining about the program. I think she might try to get you removed from it. If that happens, I have no good excuse to come and see you, read to you, talk to you.” 

Stiles swallowed roughly. The thought of never being able to see Peter again left him feeling hollow. Could the darkness come to him...Stiles startled out of his thoughts and looked around the room. He couldn’t sense the darkness. 

He got up from his chair and poked his head under the bed. It had taken to hiding under there more often or draping itself around Stiles’ shoulders when he visited. The more Peter improved, the weaker the darkness became. Stiles assumed that was a good thing, a sign that Peter was healing, his consciousness returning to his body. 

Could the darkness leave anytime? Stiles had assumed the one time it came to him on his birthday was because of his extreme distress and the bond between them. Did the darkness not being here mean that Peter couldn’t hear him? Was he talking to an empty vessel? The thought was depressing but Stiles still felt better seeing Peter unharmed, even if his rambling fell on deaf ears.

Stiles turned back to Peter after checking the room and noticed the bottom of the blankets were untucked from the bed. He walked over and began retucking Peter’s feet and noticed that Peter had no socks on. 

“What the fuck? You always have socks on. Who the hell put you into bed?”

Stiles let out a disgusted sound and walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of socks. He lifted the blanket and gasped. A large bruise covered Peter’s left shin. Stiles gently traced a finger over the purple mark. The door opened and Jennifer swept in. She frowned at Stiles and placed her hands on her hips, a severe look on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but Stiles cut her off, indicating the bruising. 

“Jennifer, look at this! He’s hurt! Who the hell is manhandling Peter?”

Jennifer came to stand beside Stiles. She rolled her eyes and seemed completely unfazed. 

“I’m sure it was an accident. It’s not easy moving a grown man around. Now, what the hell are you doing here, Stiles? Your shift is over and it’s way past visiting hours. Why do I have to keep kicking you out of Peter’s room?” 

She placed a hand on his shoulder and maneuvered him from Peter’s bed and out the door. Stiles spluttered and tried to shake her hand off of him. Jennifer smiled falsely at him.

“Goodbye. See you tomorrow!” 

Stiles was getting tired of being chased from Peter’s side. He turned to leave as the elevator dinged open, letting out staff into the corridor. He stepped inside the elevator and a hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. Kevin stood there and his face lit up upon seeing Stiles. 

“Oh, hey, Stiles! How are you? I’m just getting off shift, mind if we walk out together?” 

Stiles didn’t answer and shrugged his shoulders. Kevin took that as a yes and smiled, stepping in beside Stiles. Kevin looked at his watch as the elevator began to descend. 

“Awful late, huh? Have you eaten yet?” 

Stiles didn’t turn to Kevin, picking at his cuticles. 

“Yeah, busy day. I ate already.”

Kevin hummed in response and rocked back and forth on his feet, heel to toe. Awkward… What the hell did Kevin want from Stiles? He acted like he was fishing for a date but also acted like he wanted to slap Stiles at every joke. 

The elevator doors opened and Stiles launched himself into the lobby. He tried to walk fast enough to discourage Kevin from following him but Kevin kept pace.   
Halfway through the lobby Stiles cursed and covered his face with his hand. Fucking Derek Hale. Derek hadn’t seen him yet and Stiles ducked out of the lobby doors into the parking lot. The last thing Stiles wanted was attention from the Hale Pack before he figured out why they had abandoned Peter. 

A hand grabbed his wrist as he approached the jeep and Stiles whipped around in confusion. He had forgotten Kevin in his panic. Kevin kept a hold of his wrist and started rubbing a thumb on the prominent bones. Stiles felt nausea crawl up the back of his throat and looked down at the offending hand. Kevin touching him so intimately was very uncomfortable. He tried to shake the hand off but Kevin held on tighter. Stiles’ heart rate increased and his breathing started to climb. What was happening?   
Stiles looked up into Kevin’s face and saw a stranger. Gone was the easy going smile, the effortless charm. His beautiful, laughing eyes were flinty and cold. His features were blank, emotionless. This was a dangerous man and he was letting Stiles see. Stiles swallowed bile and shuddered. The hand on his wrist kept applying pressure and Stiles knew it would bruise. 

“What-”

“Shut up.” 

Kevin’s voice was dark, rough, too deep. He crowded Stiles against the side of his jeep and Stiles desperately thought of the bat in the back of his jeep. Too far away. The angle of the lights cast most of Kevin’s face in shadow and the smell of gunpowder and florals was overwhelming so close. Kevin stared at Stiles for too long and Stiles was afraid to move. He could feel the barely restrained violence surrounding Kevin. Kevin wanted to hurt Stiles and would be relieved at an excuse. 

Finally, Kevin moved the hand not holding Stiles and reached into the neck of his shirt. He grasped a medallion on a long leather cord and held it into the light for Stiles to see. It looked like a medieval family crest, fancy latin looking words and spears. In the middle of the crest was a man-like wolf covered in bloody arrows. Stiles felt light headed.

“You’re...you’re a hunter?” 

His voice was a whisper and Kevin leaned closer to hear. The light resettled on his face and Kevin’s eyes were illuminated. They took on a feverish glee. 

“This is the Argent Family crest, Stiles. I’m sure running with wolves has taught you to fear us, yes? You see this?”

Kevin moved the amulet and Stiles saw a bullet also attached to the leather cord. It was large, the middle was see through, showing a blue liquid. Kevin tilted the bullet between his fingers, making the blue liquid move like a lava lamp.

“This is a wolfsbane bullet. If I shoot this anywhere into your boyfriend, he’s dead before you can try to dig it out.”

Stiles said nothing, staring into Kevin’s eyes. Kevin let out a disgusted noise and roughly shook Stiles by the front of his shirt. 

“The Hale’s are monsters and we kill monsters.”

Stiles felt flush with sudden anger. What was this psycho doing around Peter.

“So what...you’re on clean up duty? Finishing what the fire started? Peter isn’t a threat! He’s been bedridden and unconscious for years!” 

Kevin laughed, a cruel sound and let go of Stiles. He took a small step back but Stiles stayed plastered against the side of the jeep. 

“I’m just giving you a friendly warning, Stiles. Play by the rules. One step out of line, one tiny infraction and I’ll put you and that monster in the ground.”   
With those words, Kevin turned and began to walk away. In frustration, Stiles straightened out his shirt and rubbed his wrist gingerly. 

“I don’t even know the rules, asshole!” 

There was no response. 

***

Stiles could barely put one foot in front of the other as he unlocked his front door. The lights were out and his dad’s cruiser was gone. He shut the door behind him and leaned heavily against it, standing in the dark. 

Today had sucked. He couldn’t even process everything, he felt numb and alone. He needed to tell his dad about Kevin. Could anything be done about Kevin? Technically, he hadn’t hurt anyone yet. This sounded more like a pack problem and Stiles could only hope that Talia would protect Peter. At the very least take care of Kevin so he couldn’t threaten the rest of the Hale Pack. 

Who the hell were the Argent Family? Kevin didn’t deny their involvement in the Hale fire. Stiles sighed, made his way into the kitchen and pulled out things for cereal. He was starting to see a clearer picture of Peter’s past. The Argent’s set the fire or were involved in some way. Hunters versus werewolves. Had the Hale’s committed some hunter crime? Or were the Argent’s full of hunters with the same manic glee as Kevin had been when he threatened to put a bullet in Peter? Had the Argents been monitoring the Hale Pack all these years? 

Stiles shook his head. For every thing brought into the light, the more confusing things seemed to become. Stiles only knew for sure that he had to protect Peter. No matter the cost, that fucking hunter wasn’t getting anywhere near Peter again. Stiles took his cereal upstairs and entered his bedroom. 

As soon as he stepped up to his desk, the door to his bedroom slammed shut and a hulking shadow moved towards him. Stiles screamed and jerked his arms, his milk and cereal flew at his assailant and the shadow halted. Stiles stumbled over to the nearest wall and flicked the lights on.   
Derek Hale stood in the middle of his room covered in milk, white drops fell softly from the sharp angles of his face and soaked into the plush leather jacket covering his shoulders. He looked pissed. Stiles found himself slammed against a hard surface by a large man for the second time in the same hour. 

“Dude, what the hell. You can’t just break into someone’s house and assault them!” 

Derek said nothing, keeping an intensely creepy amount of eye contact as Stiles spluttered. Derek leaned in and took a deep inhale. Stiles grimaced.

“Dude, you’re goddamn creepy. Why are you smelling me?” 

Derek seemed satisfied with his invasion of personal space and let go abruptly of Stiles. Stiles let himself slide down the wall and land in a slump on the floor. He stretched his legs out in front of him and Derek walked over to sit in the desk chair. Stiles was so fucking tired.   
Derek leaned his elbows on his knees and the position made him lean over Stiles. 

“We need to talk.”

Stiles closed his eyes and slammed his head back against the wall.

“Uh, ok, whatever. You could have, I don’t know, called? Knocked on the damn door?” 

He flailed his arms out and Derek leaned back to avoid getting hit. The only response was Derek raising one eyebrow and he continued to stare, unimpressed. Stiles sat for a few seconds in expectant silence and then made a frustrated grunting noise. 

“So talk! I’m so tired, dude. And you ruined my dinner.” 

Stiles rose to collect the bowl and spoon on the floor. He set both on the desk and then collapsed to sit on the end of his bed. Derek unfroze and rolled his eyes. 

“I saw you with that hunter at the hospital-”

“You saw him threaten to kill me and didn’t step in?” 

Derek flinched at the shrill note in Stiles’ voice and frowned. 

“What? No. I saw you in the lobby. You walked out with him. All chummy.” 

Stiles snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Then he assaulted me in the parking lot and said he’d put a bullet in me. And Peter by the way. That dude isn’t there for me. I’m only on his radar because I spend time with Peter. So you’re gonna take care of that asshole, right?” 

Derek stared at him in contemplative silence. 

“You seem to care an awful lot about Peter.”

Stiles felt his lip snarl and he rose to hover over Derek. He thought briefly of invading Derek’s space but forced himself not to. He’d probably snap Stiles’ neck. His fists clenched to keep himself from punching Derek. 

“Yeah, I fucking care about Peter. I’m the only one who does. And I’m telling you to fucking take care of Kevin or I will find a way to stop him.”

Derek gave him a smug grin.

“You think a weak human like you could handle a hunter?”

Before Stiles could respond, Derek pushed himself out of the desk chair, forcing Stiles to back away. Derek shook like a dog and milk sprayed over Stiles and the papers on the desk.

“Hey, what, my papers!” 

Derek smirked and walked over to the open window. He put one leg through, straddled the sill and turned back to look at Stiles.

“I’m just here to give you a warning. You’ll regret working with hunters and if something happens to Peter, I’ll rip your throat out myself.”

Stiles waved his arms around.

“Would you listen to me? I’m not working with any hunters! Also, if you cared so much about Peter, why the hell have you not visited him in 6 years?” 

Stiles almost didn’t catch the guilty look that flashed over Derek’s features. Derek turned briefly to look out the window and when he looked back at Stiles, his face was blank again. Derek opened his mouth as if to say something but then snapped it shut. Without warning he launched himself out the window, leaving Stiles a little impressed and a whole lot pissed.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change to M mostly for future chapters. Thanks for all your support!

After Derek paid a friendly visit, Stiles spent the next few days planning to sneak into his dad’s office at the sheriff’s station. The last thing Stiles wanted was for his dad to be suspicious of an impromptu lunch so he waited with barely held patience for his dad to make the suggestion instead. When he arrived at the station, John was busy in the holding cells and Stiles squeezed past unnoticed to the sheriff’s office.

There were too many files to sort through quickly, so he printed off what he could and made a weak excuse to miss lunch with his dad and hurried home. Entering his room, Stiles closed his door and made sure his window was locked. He then checked his closet and under his bed for random buff werewolves. When Stiles was sure he was alone he spread out the papers on his desk. 

He was completely horrified by the information he obtained in the police records. Kate Argent had confessed, boasted, to police that she was responsible for the fire that killed ten members of the Hale Pack. She also admitted to seducing and manipulating an underage Derek into giving her pertinent information to move her sinister plot along. The papers made no mention of Peter, stating only that Talia, Laura and Derek survived. Had Talia meant to protect Peter? 

Kate also implied, not so subtly, that she wasn't alone in orchestrating the fire but no other person of interest had been named in the case. As far as the police were concerned, the case was closed. Kate received fifty years to life in prison. Were the rest of the Argent clan involved? 

Stiles turned his attention to the remaining files. He had searched for anything that mentioned the Argent family and the results were depressingly small. Only a handful of incident reports mentioned employees of the Argent’s arms business. Bar fights, public drunkenness, nothing incriminating for the actual Argent family. 

Stiles sighed in frustration and gathered up the papers. He fished his safe from under his bed and locked them in there. He then decided he needed a coffee and a muffin. 

***

Stiles pulled into the parking lot of his favorite coffee shop and groaned dramatically to himself upon noticing a black camaro. His luck wasn’t that bad was it? He sat there a minute longer and decided he didn't give a shit anymore. The Hales wanted to make him their enemy? Fine. He would show them he wasn’t afraid of middle school intimidation techniques. They would have to do a lot worse to get him to back off. 

He wrenched open the door to the shop, avoided looking around for stray Hales and strode to the baked goods display. A huge, fist sized mixed berry muffin was calling his name and he queued up to order. 

He felt a supernatural presence sidle up behind him but refused to turn. The person behind him cleared their throat loudly, a woman. When Stiles continued to ignore the person, they stepped up beside him and stood silently. He recognized Laura Hale from the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything. He refused to play whatever game this was.   
His name was called for his order but Laura was fast and snatched up his coffee and muffin, walking away. Stiles let out an ugly, offended sound from the back of his throat.

“Hey!” 

Stiles spun around and followed her over to a private corner table where Derek sat facing the door to the shop. The table was surrounded by a shoulder height wall and fake plants sat on the wall. A pillar hid most of the table from the rest of the shop. Stiles suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic, hidden from the public with two enhanced possible enemies. 

“Hello, Stiles. I’m Laura and I heard you recently met Derek. Have a seat.”

Laura sat his order down on the table and smiled brightly at Stiles, indicating he take the only available seat. When he hesitated, Laura and Derek both raised a thick, black eyebrow. Both had amused expressions and Stiles wondered if they practiced doing that together. The ridiculous synchronicity relaxed Stiles slightly and he lowered himself into the chair, pulling his iced coffee and muffin closer to himself. At least he wouldn't die hungry. 

“So...is this a pleasant surprise meeting or am I being stalked by hot werewolves? I’m really not sure which option I would prefer.”

Stiles waggled his eyebrows and took a huge bite from his muffin. It forced him to chew with his mouth open but it was worth it for Derek’s disgusted huff and Laura’s amused smirk. She passed Stiles a napkins and indicated he had crumbs on his face. He ignored it.

“Actually, it seems like fate that you would walk in here. Little bro and I were just discussing you.”

Stiles pretended to fix his coffee straw, making sure to make as much squeaking noises as he could. 

“That is fortuitous. I wonder, were you discussing where to bury my body after Derek ripped out my throat? Might I add, my only crime here is protecting a vulnerable, innocent man.”

Derek snorted.

“Peter is far from innocent.”

Laura rammed her elbow into Derek’s side and growled. He went quiet and slumped over a bit. 

“Our uncle was never a...good man but he doesn't deserve to be hunted. We looked into Kevin and he works for the Argents. They are the ones who-”

Stiles waved a hand impatiently. 

“Yeah, yeah, Kate Argent set the fire.”

Two sets of eyes flashed a bright neon blue. Stiles choked on his coffee. 

“Uh, sorry, touchy subject. I just meant that I read the police reports.”

They both relaxed and Laura crossed her arms. 

“There is a lot left out of those.”

Stiles sighed and nodded. He then waved his hand to indicate the three of them sitting at the table.

“I can imagine. What is this exactly?” 

Laura uncrossed her arms and began rearranging the table display. She seemed nervous. 

“Derek said you seemed passionate about helping protect Peter. I thought we could share. We tell you about the Argents and you...well...how is Peter? Is he getting better?”

She still didn't look up at Stiles from moving around the flowers on the table and Derek refused to look away from him. Stiles allowed the shock he felt to show on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m fucking confused. Peter has been in the hospital for six years and no one visited him. Do you actually care? Why the hell have you stayed away from him? Don’t werewolves need pack contact? You’ve essentially left him to languish in agony when your mere presence could have helped him!”

Stiles was breathing rapidly and both Hale siblings had a pale cast to their features. Stiles gripped the edge of the table until his fingers turned white to stop himself from reaching over the table and hitting someone. 

“We wanted to see Peter, Derek and I, but...our Alpha-”

“Your mom.”

Laura shook her head slowly and she raised her eyes to meet Stiles’. 

“Mom’s not...right. After the fire, after all those pack bonds snapped, she changed.”

Derek spoke next.

“She doesn't act like our mom anymore. All that is there is the Alpha. I barely recognize her sometimes.”

Laura laid a hand on Derek’s forearm. 

“Mom thinks you’re a threat to Peter, the pack, Beacon Hills. She thinks you are an agent of the Argents and nothing we say will dissuade her.”

Stiles felt a horrified shiver go through him. If Talia thought him a threat as a human, what would she do if she knew he had magical powers? He started picking at his muffin.

“Why are you warning me? And why the interest in Peter?”

Laura sighed, looking at Stiles sadly. 

“We can’t protect you Stiles. Mom won’t let us and we sure as hell can’t stop her from coming after you. It’s hard to explain but it’s instinct to want to obey your Alpha. And she’s our mom on top of that so… Anyway, is Peter getting better? Mom won’t tell us.”

They looked earnest enough and Stiles’ instincts said he could trust them. 

“Maybe, a little. I’m not a doctor and it’s been hard getting into his medical chart. He’s responding more to stimulus…”

Laura gave a small smile.

“Peter was always loyal to those devoted to him. If you stick by his side, he can protect you.”

“He’s catatonic, Laura. I think I’ll be the one doing the protecting.”

She shifted slightly and shared a look with Derek.

“Is he?”

“Is he what?”

“Catatonic, Stiles. Is he really?”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. Did Laura know something about Peter? Stiles stood quickly and left the shop, leaving his breakfast behind. He blinked into the bright sunlight and walked across the parking lot to his jeep. Was it true that Peter was pretending to be unresponsive? Stiles glanced at the clock. Visiting hours for Peter didn’t end for a few more hours and Stiles decided he needed to see him.

***

The hospital room was empty and Peter was in his chair in front of the window. The late afternoon sunlight cast a golden light onto his scarred countenance. The scars on his face looked less red, less tight to Stiles. Peter’s face had a rosy tint and looked fuller. The clothes the hospital provided Peter with didn’t hang as much anymore.   
Stiles had known Peter for six weeks and the changes were impressive. Did this have anything to do with Stiles and the pack bond? Did Peter still have a bond with the Hales or did pack bonds...dissolve with neglect? 

Reluctant to face Peter, Stiles poked around the room, looking for the darkness. A sick, sinking feeling came over Stiles when he couldn't locate it. Stiles felt like a fool, an idiot. He seemed to be two steps behind lately. Too stupid to see how dangerous Kevin was, too dumb to avoid drawing the attention of Alpha Hale. Now, he was damn fool to not connect the darkness disappearing meant that Peter was awake, or at least partly aware. 

The increased response to stimulus, the constant small shifts in posture, Peter having his eyes closed more. They were small things that Stiles had written off as unimportant. He was too focused on himself. 

Of course Peter wouldn’t trust him, wouldn’t come to Stiles. Stiles was just some stupid kid, he was worthless to Peter. Stiles didn’t have a way to refine his magical skills, fuck, he couldn’t even put a name to his species. Peter didn’t deserve some useless hanger-on. Stiles was so desperate for any attention or understanding that he had forced himself onto a catatonic werewolf. Peter didn’t give a shit about Stiles. Peter didn’t owe him anything. 

Stiles felt bile rise in his throat and barely made it through the bathroom door to expel violently into the toilet. He dug blunt nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood and let the front of the seat dig into his sternum. It grounded him enough that he was able to swallow until the urge to vomit receded. 

He flushed the toilet and pulled himself up to close the lid and sit. From his perch he could make out one of Peter’s shoulders and tears pricked his eyes. He shut the bathroom door, cutting off the sight of a still, probably acting, Peter. Stiles put his head in his hands and sobbed once. He pursed his lips to hold back another. 

He was being pathetic. Why was he still here? He should leave Peter alone. If Peter wanted him, Peter would tell him. Peter would come to him and tell Stiles...what? Stiles used both hands to pull roughly at his hair. He couldn’t give Peter anything. He should leave. 

Stiles rose abruptly from his seat and slung the bathroom door wide, banging it loudly. He stumbled into the room and over to Peter whose back was to Stiles. Peter didn’t respond to the noise, he didn’t look around to Stiles. Stiles rounded Peter’s form and stood facing Peter, the sun at his back cast a shadow over Peter’s face. Peter’s eyes were open and staring at nothing, his head tilted back slightly, his hands laying palm down on his thighs. 

Tears rose to Stiles’ eyes again. In all of Stiles’ daydreams, he had imagined that Peter would get better, would awaken and embrace Stiles. Peter would see Stiles, would like Stiles for Stiles as so few had. Was this feeling caused by the bond between them? He couldn’t remember if he felt this way before. 

Why was the thought of being separated from Peter so devastating? They had never had a conversation. This whole situation was probably just an annoyance to Peter, an obstacle to whatever plans he had. Stiles should step aside, quit being so clingy. Stiles straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“I know you’re awake, Peter. You can’t...why would you…why wouldn’t you tell me? Am I not good enough?” 

His voice was hoarse and his throat burned. He swallowed rapidly and felt pathetically vulnerable. Peter didn’t respond to his accusations. Why would he? Stiles was nothing. His knees felt weak and his legs folded, bringing him to his knees. 

He landed before Peter, silent, waiting. He was close to Peter, close enough to touch. He rested his forehead, lightly, against the back of Peter’s hand where it rested on Peter’s thigh. He felt the grooves from the scars against his skin and wished that hand would flip over, run across his face. Stiles wished the hand would reach up, run rough fingers through his hair.

A loud bang and a muffled curse from behind the closed door jarred Stiles from his reverie. He jerked back and heaved himself to his feet. He didn’t look at Peter again as he fled the room, throwing open the door and nearly trampling Jennifer in the corridor. She called after him in an irate voice but Stiles was too focused on fleeing down the stairs to the main floor. He ran out of the building, vowing to never see Peter again. 

***

Stiles called in sick for the next two shifts at the hospital and four days went by without seeing Peter. It was the longest he had ever gone. Not long after he had fled the hospital, the bond between Stiles and Peter had seemed to come alive. All night, Stiles had felt warmed by the bond, felt it snap and tighten as if to draw him back to Peter. 

Was Peter calling him back or did it have nothing to do with Stiles? Maybe the more aware Peter was, the more the bond bled over to Stiles. Maybe Peter wasn’t doing it consciously. Stiles was too scared to find out so he concentrated as hard as he could and imagined a mental wall surrounding the bond, blocking any feelings. It worked but it also made Stiles feel shaky and sick. It was for the best, Peter’s best. 

It was Friday and Stiles was leaving Scott’s place after pizza and videogames when he felt the urge to be in the woods. Without the bond, without seeing Peter, Stiles was restless. He wanted the calm that came with being in nature. He ached to feel the magic of the trees, they would welcome him, comfort him.

The moon was bright, not a full moon, but it cast beams of light where it reached through the canopy. It was enough light that with his enhanced senses, Stiles didn’t need a flashlight. He stepped off the hiking path and the trees seemed to close around him, blocking out the world. A sanctuary just for him. 

It felt intimate and Stiles felt an intense rush of gratitude for the forest. The feeling echoed back to him and he felt himself relax. If he couldn’t have Peter, he could have this connection to the trees. 

A light breeze kicked up and Stiles felt the wind caressing his face. He closed his eyes and tipped his head up, heard the branches of the trees swaying, creating a beautiful music. Creaks, groans and fluttering leaves. It smelled like damp earth, wildflowers, moss. It felt like coming home. One day he would live in the forest, feel this every day. 

At the edge of his mental net, Stiles felt a presence. He opened his eyes, warily looking around. He took a deep breath and walked towards it. Stiles didn’t sense any malicious intent but he stepped as lightly as he could, preparing for anything. 

He came to a large tree stump surrounded by beautiful red and yellow fungi. The whole surface of the stump was covered in a blanket of green lichen. The tree that had grown from it would have been impressive, he could easily park his jeep on the stump.

Stiles could sense an ancient magic leak towards him, invisible demonic tentacles. He stepped lightly around the fungi, careful not to crush them underfoot and followed in a circle around the edge.

Halfway around the circle, Stiles came to an abrupt halt. He could see boots ahead. They didn’t move as he drew closer, moving around the circle. He wanted to place his hand on the stump, brace himself somehow but the magic flowing from the dead tree base stopped him. The magic was too wild, ready to lash out. 

Legs were revealed, encased in black jeans, wet around the knees. Blood? A torso now, no shirt, male, definitely blood. Bruises littered the body and small, bloody cuts covered almost every inch, as if he had been dragged through rough underbrush. The arms were folded back, tied behind the back. Finally, finally, a face was revealed. 

Stiles approached the body head on now, staring in sick fascination. It was Kevin. His face was mangled, three sets of deep claw marks decorated his handsome face. Some of the gashes deep enough that white bone showed. Eyes closed, face slack, was he breathing? There, Stiles saw the slightest motion of his chest rising, he could hear a tiny rattle of breath deep in Kevin’s lungs, wet. Alive, but only just. 

Stiles closed his eyes and opened them again but Kevin was still there, still dying slowly at his feet. There was no cell reception this far into the woods. No use calling his dad. Did he even want to help Kevin? The bastard that threatened Stiles, threatened Peter? Stiles worried his lip with his fingers, his thoughts felt far away, Stiles felt almost outside of his body. Was he going into shock? 

Stiles forced himself back a step and then another. This wasn’t real. He was home, dreaming. He breathed deep and concentrated his senses on the forest around him. It was eerily quiet, no wind, no bugs, no animal noises. He was suspended, waiting for something to happen. Then he felt it, the dark presence that had called him here. It was behind him and he turned. 

The small clearing that the large stump created held bright, white moonlight but it stopped at the tree line. At first, Stiles thought it was natural darkness, but as his eyes adjusted, he began to see a familiar darkness. It oozed from the treeline and, like smoke billowed across the moonlit clearing, eating the light. The darkness stopped a few feet from him and roiled in mild agitation but Stiles felt no aggression. 

Stiles squinted and could see a shape through the darkness, moving from the treeline and toward him. As the shape drew nearer the darkness, the darkness shrank and convulsed. The shape, a man, walked into the darkness from behind. As if released from a vacuum, the darkness was drawn quickly into the man and disappeared. It revealed Peter and Stiles felt the breath leave him in an instant. Peter stood before him, close enough to reach out and touch.

Peter was barefoot, the toes of his right foot were covered in scars to match the ones on the right side of his face. They covered the whole right side of his body. Stiles moved his eyes to follow the rest of Peter’s body, casting his gaze up the sweatpants covering his legs to his well muscled, bare torso. The scarring was impressive on Peter’s chest, covering his right side and licking over to his left a bit. They seemed alive as they moved with the motion of Peter’s breathing.

The longer Stiles stared, the more tense Peter seemed to get. Stiles lifted his gaze to Peter’s and drew in a small gasp. Stiles had always found Peter’s eyes beautiful but the intensity in his gaze was overwhelming. Stiles was more than shocked to be confronted with those eyes awake, aware, familiar in their regard for Stiles. Peter broke the tense standoff, keeping a few feet of distance between them. 

“Hello, Stiles.” 

Peter’s voice washed over Stiles like a crashing ocean wave. There was a low growl in Peter’s voice, a deep rumble that Stiles felt like a physical blow. A slow feeling like champagne bubbles in his blood crept over Stiles, a fizzy weightlessness that rushed to his head. His heart was beating a loud tattoo in his chest and Stiles was sure Peter would be able to hear. 

Peter’s lips moved in a slow smirk, the right side of his mouth pulled tight, turning the smirk into more of a snarl. His eyes flashed a neon blue and the snarl revealed long, sharp looking canine teeth. 

It was impossible for Stiles to not follow the scarring over Peter’s sculpted cheekbones, tracing the marks with intense, hooded eyes. Peter’s face grew more serious as he recognized where Stiles was looking, the smirk dropping. Peter’s eyes returned to their normal color and Peter traced the scars on his chest absentmindedly. He never looked away from Stiles as he spoke and seemed apprehensive as if he were bracing for a specific reaction. 

“Pardon me for being so under dressed for our first meeting. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Stiles. I know they’re...unattractive.”

Stiles sucked in a choked breath and snapped his gaze to Peter. He took a hurried step forward but stopped himself from truly closing the space between them. He didn’t want to crowd Peter. He waved his arms in a large criss-cross.

“No! No, Peter...I mean, your scars they’re not ugly. In fact, I-”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and watched Peter’s own hand caressing the scars. Who cares what Stiles thought about the way Peter looked? It surely didn’t matter to Peter that Stiles felt ready to combust in Peter’s presence. He imagined Peter’s hand caressing Stiles’ chest and felt himself flush. 

The anticipatory tension dropped from Peter’s frame. His body took on a fluidity that shocked Stiles and Peter started towards him with the contained grace of a panther. The muscles on Peter’s chest and abdomen flexed and flowed as he bridged the gap between them and he stopped with only a few inches between them. 

Stiles dared a glance to Peter’s face. Peter had a smirk back in place but it was softer around the edges and the warm look in his eyes made Stiles’ self deprecating thoughts evaporate. Peter slowly reached out a hand and laid his palm on the side of Stiles’ neck, his thumb brushing below the collar of Stiles’ shirt. It was so warm, like a brand on Stiles’ skin. Stiles shivered. Peter was touching him. Peter was awake and touching him. Peter held his eyes. 

“In fact, what? You like them, baby?”

Peter’s voice was pitched low, soothing. Stiles felt a whine crawl from the back up his throat and escape his mouth. He leaned into the searing warmth of Peter’s hand. Peter chuckled low and he flashed his eyes at Stiles again. Peter leaned his face closer until only an inch separated their faces. Stiles felt Peter’s breath on his lips and his knees felt weak. 

“I need you to do something for me, baby, ok?”

Stiles jerked his head in a faint nod, feeling high from Peter’s touch and the pet name. The hand on the side of his neck increased pressure, the thumb coming up from under Stiles’ shirt collar and touching his adam’s apple lightly. The touch made Stiles focus more on Peter’s eyes, the fuzzy lightness in his head clearing a little. 

“You blocked our bond, Stiles. I don’t like being cut off from you. Fix. It.” 

Peter enunciated the words past the dark snarl on his face. Stiles swallowed at the command in Peter’s voice, his gaze turned steely, cold. Stiles couldn’t imagine disobeying that voice. Stiles nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on the mental wall he had constructed around their bond. He felt it crumble and the bond thrummed with a renewed awareness. Peter let out a pleased hum and Stiles felt Peter press warm lips to each of Stiles’ eyelids. 

“Good boy. Don’t ever block me out again, Stiles. I mean it.”

Stiles opened his eyes and met Peter’s serious gaze. Stiles felt his eyes tear and he drew in a relieved breath at Peter’s easy forgiveness. His throat felt too tight to speak so he gave another jerky nod. Peter moved his hand to the back of Stiles’ neck and squeezed in warning, his face darkened. 

“Answer me, baby.”

“I won’t block you again, Peter. I swear. I’m sorry.” 

The words tumbled from Stiles’ lips before he could form them in his mind. His eager reply gained him a warm smile from Peter. Peter brought his other hand up to Stiles’ side. He parted Stiles’ shirt from his pants and reached under the shirt, laying his hand on Stiles’ ribs, under his wildly beating heart. One thumb caressed the sensitive side of Stiles’ neck and the other brushed over his nipple, once, twice. The sensation made his abdomen tighten and his hips jerked forward. Stiles couldn’t look away from Peter’s dark gaze. What was happening? Stiles felt consumed by Peter, pliant to his every whim. Was this the bond? Or just Peter? 

A gurgling groan sounded from behind Stiles, breaking the thick atmosphere between the two. Peter pursed his lips in annoyance and his eyes flicked behind Stiles. 

“Ah, yes. I forgot. I got something for you, baby.”

Peter gave Stiles a feral grin, his eyes sparkling. He slowly removed his hands from Stiles, trailing his palms over Stiles’ chest before dropping them. Stiles shivered from the loss and allowed Peter to manuevor him to face the large tree stump and Kevin. Peter kept an arm around Stiles’s waist and they stood side by side, looking down at Kevin. Kevin was looking back at them with barely open eyes. He jerked and then groaned again, obviously in extreme pain, unable to move. Stiles looked sideways at Peter. 

“You got me...Kevin?” 

Peter chuckled darkly, flashing his teeth at Stiles playfully. He tightened his arm around Stiles, drawing their sides flush. 

“Kevin isn’t this bastard’s real name but, well, he won’t need a name after tonight.”

“Because?”

Peter turned Stiles bodily to face him. He took Stiles’ hands in his own and placed a kiss on each finger as he spoke. 

“Because, baby, after tonight this hunter piece of shit will be dead. A sacrifice for a beautiful spark. He will further your power, our power.” 

Peter looked up from Stiles’ hands and met Stiles’ gaze under long lashes. The flirty gesture made Stiles dizzy with desire. Peter flipped over one of Stiles’ hands and set his teeth to the wrist, worrying the flesh with his teeth. It made Stiles whine and a soft warmth crawled over his body to settle between his thighs. Peter was going to kill him. Peter’s eyes flashed down and took in the growing bulge at the front of Stiles’ jeans. He seemed satisfied with the reaction and grinned wickedly. Stiles blushed, slightly mortified at reacting so easily to Peter. 

“Spark?”

“That’s you, baby. Surely you knew?” 

Stiles shook his head and lowered his eyes, completely embarrassed at his ignorance. He tried to draw away from Peter but the hand on his wrapped like a vice around his wrist. 

“Shhh. It’s ok. I only know because before…”

Peter trailed off and he traced the scars on his chest. Stiles lifted the hand not caught by Peter and touched his face. He traced each eyebrow and the line of his lips softly. Peter smiled, eyes tender. 

“Before, I was a bit of an occultist scholar. The pack library was impressive, mostly thanks to me.”

Kevin gurgled again and made an attempt to move. They were standing close enough that Peter was able to reach out and land a vicious kick to Kevin’s side. Kevin screamed and it sounded like a bone broke but Peter didn’t look away from Stiles.

“Shut up, hunter.”

Stiles swallowed nervously and flicked a look to the hunter, still slumped against the tree.

“Look at me, Stiles. Anyway, you’re a spark Stiles. I recognized your power, like an aura, through the bond when I woke. I watched you in the woods before, saw the power you have over trees and plants...”

Peter’s face took on a guilty expression. 

“When you tried to confront me at the hospital, I should have spoken out. I’m sorry, Stiles. I wasn’t trying to be cruel, I just wanted to be sure I could trust you. I didn’t realize until you blocked the bond how connected we are. Losing you like that, it...it drove me mad. I want to make it up to you, with this.” 

Peter waved a hand to encompass the clearing, the tree, the hunter. Stiles touched their foreheads together and closed his eyes. He reached out to the bond and sent a reassuring pulse over it. He sent all the softness, the warmth he felt for Peter. Peter drew in a sharp breath. 

“I forgive you, Peter. But I agree, you should make it up to me.”

Stiles opened his eyes, leaned back and gave Peter a cheeky grin. Peter huffed a laugh. 

“You brat.”

“So what, exactly, is this?”

Peter sobered and turned them back to the hunter and the stump. 

“This tree is what is left of the nemeton. Think of it like a shrine, a place of ancient ritual. Some even consider the nemeton a living entity, that it has a will of its own. They are rare and very powerful. Can you feel it, Stiles?”

Stiles closed his eyes and cast his mental net. He pulled it back. 

“Yes, I can feel it. It feels...old, dark. It’s kinda overwhelming, like if I reached out it would consume me.” 

Peter hummed. 

“Good, I knew you would feel it. It would consume you without an appropriate sacrifice.”

Stiles opened his eyes, gazing down at Kevin. At the word sacrifice, Kevin had begun to struggle violently against his bindings. The action got him nowhere, he was too weak. 

“What kind of sacrifice?”

Stiles had a feeling he knew already. Peter smirked down at Kevin, still struggling. 

“Why, of course, a human blood sacrifice.”

Kevin screamed and bared his teeth and Peter watched him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

“So you captured Kevin for me?”

Peter turned his attention back to Stiles. 

“Well, I couldn’t let an arm of the Argents occupy my territory, but this way his death will be put to good use.”

Stiles nodded. 

“Soooo what will this sacrifice do? Appease the nemeton?”

“It won’t just appease it, Stiles. It’s a first step to bind it to you. It will take more than one sacrifice to form a strong connection. The nemeton is a force of chaos. It can turn in an instant but even the possibility of having its force on our side is worth the risk.”

Stiles suddenly felt lost, small, next to Peter. 

“I...don’t know anything, Peter. I’m so fucking useless…”

Peter wrapped an arm around the back of Stiles’ neck and drew his head to rest on Peter’s shoulder. His other hand came up to rub soothingly on Stiles’ back.

“It’s all going to be ok, baby. I know what I’m doing and I’ll teach you. I put all the important occult books in the Hale vault. When I awoke, I retrieved them and put them somewhere safe. Trust me, I’ll take care of you.”

Stiles buried his face further into Peter’s neck and the arms around him tightened. Here, in Peter’s arms, Stiles felt like he could do anything. He nodded against the flesh of Peter’s neck. 

“These books, they talk about what I am?”

“Yes, baby. You can research anything and everything to your heart’s content. I’ll make sure you have all the knowledge of the supernatural community at your fingertips.”

“So you’re like the Giles to my Buffy?” 

Stiles lifted his face from Peter’s neck in time to see Peter scrunch his nose in distaste. Peter rolled his eyes as Stiles grinned. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

“So, what do we do for this sacrifice?” 

Peter walked over to Kevin and roughly jerked him up to his knees, facing the nemeton. Kevin tried to fight against Peter’s hold as Peter fisted his hair and pulled his head back, exposing Kevin’s throat at a painful looking angle. Peter produced a large, black dagger and waved it at Stiles, looking over his shoulder. 

“Where the hell did you pull that from?” 

Peter smirked but ignored the question. 

“It’s simple. I cut his throat, spill his blood on the nemeton and you, dear, say some fancy magic words and concentrate on connecting with the power in this glade.” 

***

Once the ritual was complete, Peter slung Kevin’s body over his shoulder and bid Stiles to follow him into the forest. They came upon a deep hole in the ground and Peter   
dropped the body down and began to bury it. 

“No one comes out this far, not even the pack. It’s safe for us.”

When he was done, Peter placed his hand on the small of Stiles’ back and began walking again. The bond hummed in contentment between them. 

“Come on, baby. I want to show you something.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am guessing there are only two or three more chapters left! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos. Your support is really motivating! Also, there is a panic attack in this chapter!

Stiles expected Peter to lead them back to the jeep but instead they ended up at a quaint cabin in another clearing not too far from the nemeton. The cabin was in good repair, one story and had a small covered porch with a cozy little two seater swing. There was no road access to the cabin. 

Between the bright moonlight and the welcoming flickering flame in one window, Stiles felt like he had stepped into one of the horror stories he had read to Peter at the hospital. Peter stood with one foot on the bottom porch step and held a hand out to Stiles. A dark, handsome stranger there to lead Stiles astray. Stiles took Peter’s hand and reveled in the feeling that there was no turning back. 

“I had this cabin built...before. It was to be my safe haven. No one knew of it.”

Peter drew Stiles up the porch steps and paused in front of the front door, pulling out a large, ornate brass key. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Dramatic much?” 

He gestured to the key and Peter gave him a grin and raised one eyebrow. 

“I always enjoy theatrics.” 

“I’ll remember that.”

Peter turned and opened the door. It creaked open and a few stray leaves blew into the cabin from the porch. They stepped into a comfortably furnished living space. The cabin was open concept and the front of the room was a lounging area dominated by a vast amount of books on shelving. 

Red leather couches and chairs were complemented by dark wood side tables and a coffee table. Peter crossed the room to a large grey stone fireplace and flicked a switch to turn on an array of fake candles set inside. He turned to Stiles but didn’t look up from regarding Stiles’ shoes. 

“After, well, I don’t do well with working fireplaces.”

He reached a hand up absently to cover the scars on his face. Stiles nodded and crossed to stand in front of a kneeling Peter. He took Peter’s hand in his. 

“I get it. The candles are nice. I’m sure it’s less maintenance too.”

Peter looked up at Stiles from under his lashes and quirked his lips. He squeezed Stiles’ hand and let go, standing up. He stood so close to Stiles that they shared their next breath. Stiles looked into Peter’s eyes, lost. 

This man was so mesmerizing, his presence demanded attention. It was intoxicating to Stiles to have this man’s eyes on him, no distractions. They barely knew each other but the bond between them caused an intimacy that couldn’t be ignored. Was Stiles the only one that felt this attraction between them? Was he imagining the charged atmosphere?  
Peter turned from him and moved through the living area to the back of the cabin, the kitchen and dining area. He passed a large dining table and opened the refrigerator door. He pulled out two water bottles and threw one to Stiles. Stiles fumbled the catch but recovered it, blushing slightly. 

“I never got to enjoy this place when it was built. The bookshelves were empty until two weeks ago. I retrieved all of my things from the Hale vault and brought them here.   
Talia never found it, all the pack scents in the area are years old.”

Peter walked back to the living area and stood regarding the books. He pulled a few books down and set them on the coffee table. He perched on the arm of a loveseat and waved a hand at the books. 

“You should read these, sweetheart. They deal specifically with sparks and druids. Not much is known about sparks, unfortunately. Not many exist as far as I know.” 

Peter picked up a tome and flipped through it. He motioned with his head for Stiles to sit on the loveseat. As Stiles did, Peter tipped the book towards him so they could look at it together. Stiles’ shoulder pressed against Peter’s hip, the candles surrounding them in soft light. 

“I only have a few tomes that mention sparks and nothing too in depth. I honestly thought they were myth. You are very special, baby.”

Stiles looked up with wide eyes to meet Peter’s gaze. Peter sat the book in Stiles’ lap and reached for another one. Stiles ran a finger over the words on the page, the smell of the book wafted up to engulf him. 

“It’s fascinating, really. A spark’s power is limited only by their will. If you believe, you can do. But, I’ve seen you have an affinity for plants. Is there a reason for that? It’s not an inherent part of your abilities. In other words, you want this connection to plants, so you have it.”

Stiles looked up from the book in his lap and considered the question, watching the candlelight flickering against Peter’s face. 

“My mother...she always loved to garden. She kept flowers and vegetables. She always had books on gardening and we loved to hike on the forest trails around Beacon Hills. I always loved the time we spent in nature together.”

Peter came to sit next to Stiles on the loveseat and put an arm around Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles let his head fall on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Stiles.” 

Stiles hummed in response and soaked up Peter’s body heat. A grandfather cock sounded from behind them in the room and they listened as it chimed twelve times. Stiles rose from the loveseat and full body stretched. He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked over to look at the rest of the titles on the bookshelves. 

“Are these all occult books?”

Peter stayed seated. Stiles could feel his gaze on the back of his head. 

“Only some of them survived. I’m not sure if my sister sold them off or if they burned.”

Peter’s voice was bitter and Stiles turned to him. Peter’s jaw was clenched and he ran an irritated hand through his hair. 

“Have you talked to her? Talia?” 

Peter gave him an incredulous look. 

“No. Even before I was hospitalized, Talia and I never saw eye to eye. She treated me like a collared beast, always watching me, waiting for me to bite the hand extended. I was considering leaving the pack. I never felt like I belonged, and most of them were blood!”

Stiles crossed to kneel in front of Peter. A desolate, bitter darkness bled through their bond. Stiles gathered Peter’s hands and held them. 

“Is that why she didn’t visit you? Laura said she forbade Derek and her from seeing you. Talia wouldn’t even update them on your condition.” 

Peter stilled and met Stiles’ eyes with a fierce gaze. 

“Laura said that? Was she lying?”

Stiles shook his head in determination. 

“I don’t think so. I believe her. Derek and Laura reached out to me to ask about you. Laura is the reason I put together that you were awake. They said that Talia is different since the fire. They said they barely recognize her, all that’s left some days is the alpha. I think, I think they are scared of her.”

Peter removed his hands from Stiles’ grasp and sat back, giving a shaky smile. 

“That makes things easier.”

“Makes what easier?” 

Peter flicked his eyes to the side and stood, pushing past a kneeling Stiles. He ignored Stiles question and returned to the kitchen. He opened some cabinets and started pulling out cookware and ingredients. 

“I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but blood sacrifices make me peckish. How about some pancakes. I’m afraid I don’t have much else.”

Stiles felt a sense of foreboding at Peter’s distraction from the question. What was Peter planning and why was he not letting Stiles in on it? Why was Peter pushing him away?   
Stiles sat himself at the bar, facing the kitchen. He watched Peter pour flour into one bowl and whisk eggs in another. Peter finally broke the uncomfortable silence as he poured batter into a pan, facing away from Stiles. His voice was steely.

“I want revenge, Stiles. On the Argents. Nothing will stop me, nothing. I need to build a strong pack and I want you to be emissary. A strong pack can face anything.” 

A cold, nasty feeling settled in Stiles’ stomach. He got up and rounded the counter, stopping behind Peter, who’s back had gone tense. He wanted to lay a hand between Peter’s shoulders but didn’t dare. Stiles felt like one wrong move could be fatal. 

“Peter, I don’t want to stop you, I want to help. But...if you want me here with you, you can’t keep things from me.”

Peter spun and grabbed Stiles by the shoulders. His bared sharp fangs and Stiles felt claws dig into his flesh, not piercing. Peter’s eyes flashed neon blue and he growled threateningly. Stiles wanted to dip his head to the side, bare his neck but he forced himself still. He couldn’t allow himself to submit to Peter on this. This moment would set the course for their entire future. 

“Peter, listen to me. Pack shouldn’t be a means to an end, it should be about family. If you want to lord yourself over your pack, then count me out. I want to help you get revenge on those bastards but I won’t submit to you if you don’t trust me, if you can’t let me in.” 

Peter pushed Stiles away with a disgusted grunt. Stiles caught himself before he could knock everything off the counter behind him. Peter pushed into his space, looming.

“What the fuck do you know about pack, Stiles? Nothing! What do you know about pain and betrayal? Nothing! Don’t preach to me, Stiles. My pack abandoned me to eternal agony! You think I wasn’t awake for those six years? You think I was asleep? I was stuck in my own damn body, feeling the pain, reliving that night! I can’t trust anyone! Only myself.”

Peter turned from him and started banging around the kitchen. Stiles straightened from his inelegant sprawl, shaking. He made his way through the living room to the front door, picking up the books on the coffee table. He paused and looked over his shoulder, his hand on the knob of the front door. 

“I won’t pretend to know your pain, Peter, but you need to think about what I said tonight. I won’t serve a tyrant. I’m telling you now, you can trust me. We just killed a man tonight and sacrificed him to a magical tree. We still have his blood on us. I want our pack to be a family. You deserve a family, Peter...let me help you make a family.” 

Stiles turned to leave, opening the door. Peter’s voice came to him faintly through the cabin. 

“Don’t block the bond, Stiles. Please.”

Stiles stood on the porch, books in his arms, and met Peter’s eyes. Peter looked distraught and Stiles allowed himself to soften. 

“I won’t, Peter...not yet.”

***

Time away from Peter was torture but Stiles stood firm. The two days leading up to his next shift at the hospital were full of studying the books Peter gave him and ignoring the bond between them. Stiles was reluctant to block the bond, afraid to push Peter too far. Peter had seemed desperate for the bond to stay open. Was the bond the only thing keeping Peter grounded? It seemed too cruel to Stiles to take that away from him. 

Keeping the bond open was turning out to be an extreme test of Stiles’ patience. The first day, Peter had constantly sent emotions through the bond to Stiles. The morning started with an overwhelming anger with a slight undertone of betrayal. 

Afternoon morphed into a desperate plea for Stiles to come to Peter. That was especially hard for Stiles, the desolation that Peter felt. Stiles wasn’t trying to abandon Peter, he just wanted mutual respect. If Peter couldn’t handle that, Stiles was strong enough to stay away. He hoped.

By midnight, Peter had gone silent. Was Peter up to something? Enacting his mysterious, private plan? Did Peter think Stiles too weak to help? Had Peter decided to shut him out? Stiles felt a rush of determination and set upon the books with double the fervor. He wasn’t weak. He would show Peter that Stiles could stand on his own. He didn’t need Peter, just wanted him. 

The books were fascinating, ancient and horribly cryptic. It took multiple readings and a consultation with a dictionary to even begin to understand the material. Once Stiles fell into the cadence of the language, the information flowed. 

There wasn’t much about sparks to be learned, the books said not much was known. Sparks were rare and potentially extremely powerful. Each spark was limited only by their personal will. It was postulated by these ancient, faceless occult scholars that the more weak willed sparks were never known to the magical community. 

Perhaps the less powerful sparks were unusually lucky, unusually successful or extremely charming. These traits were nothing that would suggest magic to the casual observer. That Stiles could manifest any magical ability was a sign that Stiles was extremely powerful, able to hone anything his mind desired. It was a frightening concept. What if a spark decided to be a serial killer? Who could stop them? Of course, Stiles considered himself more morally mature than a serial killer but didn’t all power have to potential to corrupt? Who would stop Stiles from going crazy, if he did?

After an extensive session of cyclical philosophical questions, Stiles turned to the other books that Peter had set out for him. These books were about druids and their powers. Apparently, most druids didn’t manifest real, observable powers. They just felt a special connection to nature and some had heightened observance of magical beings, a sixth sense. Very few druids could influence plant life, but nothing so dramatic as accelerated growth, more of a gentle encouragement to grow well. 

Stiles woke up early on the second day away from Peter, saw his dad off to the station with a healthy breakfast and availed himself to the garden in the backyard. The garden was abandoned and had completely overgrown. 

Neither Stiles or his dad had touched it since Claudia’s death. Stiles fought down his sadness and guilt. His mom would have wanted the garden to stay beautiful and Stiles was determined to fix it. If his spark was a well of limitless potential, then he could turn this garden around.

The whole backyard had at one time been a mini eden. Trees lined the edge of the yard making a natural barrier between the neighbors. They were in a desperate need of trimming. Half of the space at one time had been a vegetable garden, bountiful underneath his mother’s hands. The other half still had his childhood swing set, sitting sad and rusty in the grass. Following around the full circumference of the house were large flower beds. Stiles decided to start there. 

He sat in the dirt, facing the house, and pushed his hands as far into the dirt as possible. The weeds and grass had taken over all of the flowers. To his extra senses they felt cluttered, like too much white noise, chaos. The forest plants had felt similar but more structured. He had felt an innate hierarchy to their growth. Here, in the garden, there was no structure at all, no real personality to the weeds. 

Stiles felt little guilt in encouraging the weeds to die. They withered, brown, and shrunk to nothing, like parchment in a fire. Left behind was the odd, persistent flower and some flower bulbs, held in stasis in the ground. A mere thought had the seeds sprouting, growing fast and sure, reaching petals to the sun. A riot of colors spread over the flower beds, reaching around the house. Not enough to fill every space but enough for now. Stiles was determined to buy more flowers and encourage them to live happily. 

As Stiles stood, he wondered idly if he could keep the flowers growing all year. He felt light headed as he gained his feet and stumbled. He felt mentally drained and extremely hungry. The books had stated that his magical stamina could possibly be increased with practice. Looking at the vibrant flowers, Stiles felt giddy. If he could do this, what else could he do? 

***

Stiles was nervous walking into the hospital the next day. After the initial emotional bombardment the first day of the separation, Peter had sent no deliberate emotions through their bond. The bond was still open between them, he could feel Peter’s dark presence always in the back of his mind. Occasionally, Stiles could perceive flashes of Peter’s emotions, slight annoyance or extreme frustration. What was Peter doing? Was he still playing “dead”. Shit, was he even at the hospital? It’s not like Stiles would have been called if Peter went missing, he wasn’t a family contact. 

Taking a deep breath Stiles stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. Stiles caught Melissa’s eye as the doors opened and her face brightened. She hurried to meet him in the corridor and ushered him to the nurses station. Stiles noticed Peter’s door was closed and he forced himself not to hesitate as he passed. Melissa was practically vibrating and she leaned over the counter at the station, her eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“Guess what! The most exciting thing happened this weekend! Peter woke up!”

Stiles felt a spike of anxiety at the mention of Peter and forced his face into a shocked expression. What the hell was Peter’s plan? Was he going to pretend to get better slowly? Stiles felt his feigned shock become genuine as a theory occurred to him. Was Peter playing sick to draw out more Argents? It made sense. 

With Kevin missing and Peter awake, the Argents would draw conclusions that Peter was involved. Dammit, Stiles wished he could talk to Peter but Stiles refused to confront Peter with his theories. Peter would have to disclose his plan willingly to Stiles, he wouldn’t force it. Peter would draw Stiles into his confidence or he wouldn’t. The ball was in Peter’s court.

“Whoa, wow, omg!” 

An actor, Stiles was not. Melissa didn’t seem to notice and clasped a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know! Unfortunately for you, his medical care has increased, so I’m moving you to a new patient. I don’t want you in the way of Peter getting better. But, we mentioned that you have been sitting with him and he’s excited to meet you. How about around lunch you go say hello to Peter?”

Stiles agreed and went about his day with a new patient. 

When Stiles was leaving for the day, he once again refused to stop by Peter’s room. As he was leaving the hospital, he felt anger over their bond and Stiles had a feeling he was the cause. 

***

Stiles should have known that going back to the coffee shop was a bad idea. In his defense, the muffins were to die for and the iced coffee was superb. Of course, he regretted his weakness for baked goods when Laura Hale tackled him, threw him over her shoulder and deposited him, cursing, into the back seat of her camaro. 

He levered himself up as she started the car and peeled out of the parking lot. Stiles turned to stare forlornly out of the back windshield at the crushed remains of his coffee and muffin on the asphalt. 

“Oh come on, dude! My after dinner snack is ruined. They had cream cheese muffins today! I got the last one!”

Stiles turned back, highly offended, to face Laura and startled to see Derek in the passenger seat. They both stared ahead at the road grimly, neither acknowledging him. The air was heavy and oppressive and Stiles felt a creeping fear take over him. He cleared his throat, trying to stay calm. 

“Um, so, is this an actual kidnapping or…”

They didn’t respond but Stiles saw Laura glance at him in the rearview mirror. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. He took a chance and punched Derek lightly on the shoulder.

“Dude-” 

Derek caught his loose fist and turned partly in his seat to growl and flash neon blue eyes at him. 

“Don’t. Call. Me. Dude.”

He pushed Stiles’ hand away from him and turned back around to face forward. Stiles held up his hands by his head, palms forward. 

“Ok, Ok. I mean if this is real, um, I have people who will miss me. Friends, family, Peter...probably.”

Stiles continued to regale them with all the people who would miss him if he died, making up most of the names he gave them for family relations. After ten minutes of nervous rambling and an increasing internal panic, Laura let out an annoyed yell under her breath and jerked the car steering wheel to the right. The car came to a screeching halt on the side of an abandoned stretch of forest road. Derek reached out a hand to touch Laura shoulder put she batted it aside. 

“Laura-”

“I can’t do this, Derek.” 

Laura ran an agitated hand through her hair and turned her body to look at Stiles, pulling her leg to rest on the seat awkwardly. Stiles stared at her, wide eyed. 

“Do...what, exactly?” 

Stiles fisted shaking hands in his shirt, balling the ends up. This sounded serious. Stiles never once thought that the Hale Pack would try to physically hurt him. Intimidate him, sure, but kidnapping? Stiles felt like this was just the beginning of whatever was in store for him. 

“Listen, just tell me what is going on and we can figure this situation out.”

Stiles held Laura’s gaze and she seemed to calm down. She took a deep breath and shared a glance with Derek. Whatever Derek saw in her eyes, he didn’t seem to like. He shook his head and his face pulled into a pained expression. 

“Laura, we can’t go against mom. We have to-”

“We don’t have to do shit, Derek! Stiles is not working with the Argents! Peter wouldn’t tolerate him if he were. Peter would have ripped his throat out immediately.” 

Derek let out a frustrated huff.

“So you trust Peter over mom now?” 

“Maybe I do! Maybe what Peter said makes a hell of a lot more sense than what mom is doing. She made us kidnap Stiles and wants him tortured, extensively, for information! Information she has to know he doesn’t have! She’s crazy, Derek.” 

Derek sat in silence, not meeting Laura’s gaze anymore. Stiles reeled from their conversation.

“Uh, Talia wants you to torture me!? Like legit electric shock and fingernails ripped off?”

Laura bowed her head and Stiles saw it bob once, a confirmation. He whipped his head back and forth, looking from one sibling to the other in shock. His earlier panic, forgotten momentarily by the conversation, came rushing back. He let it overtake him, hearing his heart beating in his ears. Stiles started panting and felt hot, dizzy. 

He heard someone curse and the door next to him opened and he felt a warm body settle behind him, pulling him into someone’s arms. From far away, he could make out a soft voice, speaking words he couldn’t quite catch and a hand came to rest on his chest, over his heart. 

After a few moments he felt the chest behind him lift and fall in exaggerated breaths and he latched onto the rhythm, forcing his to match. Laura’s voice came to him next, softly murmuring nonsense into his hair. 

He shuddered and relaxed in her arms, focusing his whole mind on the simple act of breathing. Vaguely, he wondered how much of that made it through the bond to Peter, then he dismissed the thought. Best to face his torture and untimely demise head on. 

Stiles moved his head weakly and saw Derek still in the front passenger seat, looking concerned and guilty. Laura cleared her throat.

“It’s ok, Stiles. We’re not going to hurt you. I don’t care if we have to defy our Alpha, no one is getting tortured. I’m sorry we went this far. We should have never touched you.” 

Stiles felt himself fully relax at her words and closed his eyes. He gathered all the strength he had in his limbs and shifted around to face Laura, putting his back against the opposite door. He felt like he had run a marathon, limbs numb and mind blank. 

“You said...that you talked to Peter? Did he tell you what he’s doing? His plans?” 

Laura bit her lip and nodded, still reclining in the backseat, door open beside her. 

“He told me some. I have a feeling he left most of his cards unseen. He was like that before the fire and I think it’s even more true now. I told him about mom, how she’s changed...unhinged. She says things that don’t make sense, she makes up adversaries where there are none. For some reason, she seems convinced you’re trying to destroy us. Peter getting better seems to have accelerated her paranoia. I don’t know who to trust.” 

Laura looked lost and Derek looked at her in sympathy. 

“I’m next in line to be Alpha but with how things are going...I don’t know what I want anymore. There is no pack anymore, just a tyrannical alpha.”

Stiles took a deep breath and accepted a water bottle Derek handed him. The car engine popped and fizzed and Stiles could see nothing in the darkness of the night. There were no lights this far out of town, the only illumination came from the headlights and the bright car cabin light. A few moths fluttered madly around the top of the camaro, casting shadows. The Hale Pack was more destroyed than anyone knew. 

“Listen, I’m glad to know you two aren’t homicidal maniacs but I have a feeling that Talia won’t stop coming after me. How do I protect myself?”

Stiles was reluctant to mention his powers, still in their infancy. He was learning and developing his spark but he was still a long way away from taking on an alpha werewolf. 

Laura grinned at him. 

“Well, you have Peter.”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. Derek huffed out a surprised laugh and brought everyone’s attention to the front windshield. Standing, illuminated in the headlights, was Peter. He was dressed in the hospital sweatpants but, again, he wore no shirt and was barefoot. He was partly shifted and had a crazed look on his face. He leapt forward and slammed both fists onto the hood of the camaro. The car jolted from the impact. 

“Stiles!”

Peter snarled and yelled Stiles’ name and Stiles cursed, quickly exiting the car. Laura and Derek stayed still. Peter shifted his gaze to Stiles and pushed Stiles behind him when he was close enough to reach out. Peter backed up slowly from the car, keeping Stiles behind him, never looking away from the car. Stiles put a hand on Peter’s hip.

“Whoa now, big bad. Everything is ok now. We worked it out and no one needs to get hurt.” 

Peter snarled again towards the two figures in the car. Stiles ducked under the arm spread out to keep him back and rounded Peter. He stood facing him at an angle so that   
Peter could still look at his niece and nephew. Stiles put a hand back on Peter’s hip and reached his other hand up to cup the hairy side of Peter’s face. His thumb traced the burn scars and ran over the ridges his beta shift gave him. Peter kept his face in a snarl and his fangs dripped with saliva. He grew more tense as Stiles stood in front of him.

“Get behind me, Stiles.” 

The words came out slurred around his teeth. Stiles shook his head. 

“It’s ok, Peter. I swear, please, let’s go.”

“Go? We aren’t leaving until I rip them apart for touching you! I felt you through the bond, Stiles. What the hell did they do to you?” 

Stiles laughed nervously. 

“Oh, just some light kidnapping and mentions of torture.”

Peter snarled again, pushing Stiles out of the way and advancing on the car. Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter from behind.

“Whoa, whoa! It’s all cool, Peter! It was Talia’s idea but Laura and Derek refused to hurt me!” 

Peter paused, putting a long clawed hand over Stiles’ where it rested over his chest. He turned his head to look at Stiles, keeping the car in his peripheral vision. 

“They are defying their alpha?” 

Stiles nodded his head emphatically. 

“Yes! See, they aren’t a threat right now. Please, can we go? I’m so tired and hungry.” 

Stiles exaggerated a pout and Peter relaxed marginally. He turned his attention fully to the car and growled long and low. It gave Stiles goosebumps. 

“Leave, now, before I kill you.” 

They watched Derek slide over to the driver’s side and start the car up. The car turned and drove back in the direction of Beacon Hills. Peter finally turned to face Stiles, his face back to normal. Peter brought up his hands and cupped both sides of Stiles’ face softly. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

Stiles gave a sigh and leaned into Peter’s hands, soaking up their warmth. 

“Yes, Peter. I had a panic attack when they started talking about torture but Laura helped me through it. She also swore they wouldn’t hurt me. Talia on the other hand…”

Peter face grew dark, his lip lifting in a snarl. 

“Yes, we will have to deal with my dear sister.”

Stiles felt hope flutter in his chest.

“We?” 

Peter met his gaze and smiled softly. He brought his forehead to touch Stiles’, still cupping his face. 

“Yes, we, Stiles. Come on, we have things to discuss and you never ate those pancakes I made…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows kiss*

Stiles was shocked when instead of heading in the direction of the woods, Peter led him further up the road to Stiles’ jeep. 

“You...stole Roscoe?” 

Peter stopped walking to turn back to Stiles, a confused frown on his face. He tilted his head in silent inquiry and Stiles had to suppress a laugh at how canine the move seemed. He continued walking towards the jeep and their shoulders touched as they passed.

“Roscoe is my jeep. I should call my dad, I got time for stealing a car.”

Peter smirked and opened the driver’s side door for Stiles. He then walked to the other side of the jeep and settled in. 

“I don’t think community service is the same as 'doing time', Stiles.” 

Stiles pouted as he turned the jeep on and headed back for Beacon Hills.

"But seriously, why do you have my jeep?"

"I was close by when you got attacked."

Stiles squinted his eyes and scoffed.

"You mean you were stalking me."

He heard Peter shift around in the passenger seat. 

"The point is, I was near enough to see the Camaro leave the scene and I took…Roscoe to ride to your rescue." 

Stiles smiled to himself, amused at Peter's wordplay. 

"I should really be more bothered that you watch me at night, huh?"

He turned to catch Peter smirking.

"Probably."

“What happened to the pet names?”

Instead of being further amused like Stiles expected, Peter became very serious. He turned to Stiles and he could feel Peter’s intensity. Peter raised a hand as if to reach out and touch Stiles but paused and then dropped the hand into his own lap. Stiles felt his good mood disappear. He was getting whiplash from all these emotions. 

“I think we should have a serious conversation, Stiles. If after you hear what I have to say you still want me to...be around, I will. I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Stiles glanced at Peter, catching the sad look on his features. 

“Sounds good. I’m glad you’re letting me in, Peter. We would make a good team.”

Peter chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. He then turned to look out of the window. The darkness hid any further expressions from Stiles but his tense posture was obvious. There was still so much that Stiles didn’t understand. About Peter, the Hales, himself, hell even Beacon Hills. All Stiles knew was that he wanted to be there for Peter.  
Wanting to show this, Stiles reached over and placed his hand on Peter’s thigh, close to the knee. Peter jumped and Stiles tried to jerk his hand back, feeling guilty. Peter caught the hand and brought it back to Peter’s lap, their fingers entwined. 

“Sorry, I should have asked-”

“No! Don’t apologize. I’m just not used to being touched. But...I don’t mind, with you.”

Stiles risked taking his eyes off the quiet stretch of forest road to really look at Peter. Peter brought his other hand to caress the back of Stiles’ hand, a small, soft smile on his face. Stiles turned back to the road, flushing. 

Gods, just holding Peter’s hand made him a mess. The bond thrummed between them at the contact and an overwhelming sense of contentment reached him through it. When was the last time anyone but Stiles had held Peter’s hand, touched him without being clinical? The bond told Stiles that Peter was feeling safe and happy holding Stiles’ hand. He was determined to be Peter’s safe harbor in the hurricane shitshow that was their life so far. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“So, where are we going? The cabin?” 

“No, I have a place in the city. I’ll tell you directions.”

***

When Peter said a “place in the city”, Stiles was expecting a chic apartment complex, not the derelict warehouse they parked in front off. Peter didn’t say anything, just letting go of Stiles’ hand to lead the way. They came to a large sliding loft door and Peter paused, looking nervous. He turned to Stiles and fidgeted and Stiles couldn’t help but find his behavior as alarming as it was endearing. 

“I bought this building with a future pack in mind. After what you said, about a pack being family, I wanted to have a den. This place is divided into six loft apartments. A lot of space, a lot of potential...a lot of work.”

Feeling completely smitten, Stiles closed the space between them, taking Peter’s face between his own. He tried to meet Peter’s eye but Peter avoided him. 

“I love it, Peter. I’m so proud of you.”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath and collected himself. He smirked, the motion pulling his scars and his eyes were radiant at the praise. It made Stiles’ heart beat faster to see the effect he had on Peter. A few simple, heartfelt words and Peter’s insecurity fell away. The bond was warm, Peter was happy and Stiles sent his pride and excitement through. Peter reached up and squeezed Stiles’ wrist, then turned, keeping one hand in his. He opened the loft door. 

“Well, I’ve only worked on this apartment so far. I was hoping, that is, I want you to help finish it. If you decide to stay.” 

Stiles pulled on Peter’s hand before they could walk into the apartment, pulling Peter around and back into his space. He met Peter’s eyes. 

“Peter, there isn’t much you can say to me at this point for me to leave you. I know you have some elaborate plan, probably including murder. As long as it doesn’t hurt the people I love or, or innocent people, I’m here for you. And I'm beginning to suspect you're a secret millionaire. So, plus.”

Peter gazed intently at Stiles, still clasping his hand. 

“That sets the bar pretty low, Stiles. I am capable of many...dark things.”

Peter flashed his eyes and showed a hint of fang, as if to emphasize his point. 

“Are you forgetting our first date? Murder and blood ritual? I didn’t run away screaming did I?” 

Peter’s mouth fell open in surprise, his eyes searching Stiles’ face a little frantically. 

“First date, huh?”

Stiles blushed, embarrassed. He tried to extract his hand from Peter’s, noticing that Peter’s claws were out. Peter didn’t let him go. It seemed to be the theme for the night. 

“Uh, sorry, I mean.”

Peter smiled pleasantly and let Stiles flounder in his mortification for a few moments. His smile soon turned feral. Stiles punched Peter’s shoulder playfully. 

“You’re a sadist. Put me out of my misery, here.”

Peter laughed in delight at the jab and pretended to nurse his shoulder in pain. The laugh sent a possessive thrill through Stiles, it sounded so carefree. He bet Peter didn’t laugh like this for anyone else. Instead of responding any further, Peter tugged Stiles into the loft. 

It was impressive. The smell of new paint and the tangy lumber smell of fresh furniture lingered in the air. It was all open concept and a spiral staircase led to a bedroom loft. It was clean but bare, no decor just furniture. The space was dominated by two large couches and five recliners in front on the biggest fireplace Stiles had ever seen.

“Is that a tv in the fireplace?”

Peter saw his gaze and walked over and detached a remote mounted to the wall, pushing the power button. The tv showed a rainstorm, complete with sound effects. 

“I wanted the psychological warmth a fireplace gives, even when unlit. But I’m not ready for flames, just yet. This thing has twenty different options.”

Stiles nodded his head, running a hand over the buttery leather of the couch nearest him.

“It’s a lot of couches.”

“Yes, I envision the pack here, lounging on the furniture, eating at the dining table.”

Stiles noticed the dining table could seat twenty comfortably. The kitchen was huge as well, plenty of room for cooking. 

“You’ve thought a lot about this. About creating a space for a pack.”

Peter brushed lint off his shoulder and avoided Stiles’ eyes.

“I thought about what you said, about building a family. I had a pack and a family but I always felt like an outsider. I never wanted to hope that one day it could be different. I want that, Stiles. Desperately.”

Stiles smiled and leaped over the back of the couch in front of him, bouncing as he hit the cushions on his side, sprawling out. Peter chuckled and made his way into the kitchen, pitching his voice to reach Stiles from across the loft. 

“Want some tea, coffee?”

“Coffee, please!”

With their drinks, they both settled at the dining table, seated across from each other. Peter played with the tea bag in his mug and Stiles waited as patiently as he could, bouncing him right knee. 

“I won’t go into much detail about the plans I had when I first awoke. I formed them before trusting you and before speaking with Laura. A general overview was to kidnap Laura or Derek, possibly both, to lure out Talia and force her to give me the alpha spark. If she didn’t, I was prepared to kill her to get it.” 

Peter paused to sip at his tea. Stiles stared, unmoving, at him. Peter gave a wincing smile, looking at Stiles.

“The only part I regret now is involving the kids. Laura seems genuine in her want to defy her mother, to do what she sees as right. Luckily, that benefits me, us. You must understand, Stiles, that I was still so...raw when I regained consciousness. I wasn’t thinking logically, I only wanted to start ripping out throats until I got what I wanted.”

Peter reached across the table to set a hand on top of Stiles’. Stiles turned his hand over so that they rested palm to palm. Peter didn’t break eye contact.

“If you, if our bond hadn't existed-well, the result would have been bloody and not very helpful. Without our connection, my mind would not be my own. It would have been extremely easy for the Argents to find me, kill me. And we never would have met.”

Stiles swallowed at the open emotion in Peter’s voice, on his face. 

“You make it sound like our bond is different than a normal pack bond.”

Peter’s smile looked pained and he squeezed Stiles’ hand before letting go. He leaned back in his chair, face furrowed in thought. Stiles felt a flutter of nervousness. Peter was acting hesitant, almost scared. After a moment Peter rose and paced over to one of the couches a short distance away and sat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. Stiles watched Peter gather himself and wanted to go to him, comfort him. He forced himself to stay at the dining table. 

“The bond between us, Stiles, it’s rare. Just like you.”

Stiles felt as if time had slowed to a stop and felt ready to crawl out of his skin in anticipation. He could only force a whisper past his lips.

“What is it?”

Peter leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, as if bracing for a physical blow. 

“A mating bond, at least the potential to be one. The closeness we share is unusual, Stiles. We should not be able to sense each other’s emotions, not to the intensity we do. When you were with Laura and Derek, I felt your panic and fear like a sword in my gut. Pack bonds are...they connect us but…”

Peter shook his head, clearly at a loss. Stiles was stunned. A mating bond? 

“You said our bond had the potential to be a mating bond? It’s not like instant marriage, is it? Wait, is that why I…” 

Oh gods, what if the attraction they felt for each other was completely manufactured? Was this Stiles’ fault? Had he become so enamored of Peter and his darkness that his magic had forced Peter into having feelings for him? 

“Stiles, come here.”

Peter’s calm voice broke him out of his panicking spiral. He jerked up to his feet and shakily made his way over to Peter. Peter reached out and drew Stiles down to lay stretched out on the couch, Stiles’ head in Peter’s lap. He began stroking a hand through Stiles’ hair. 

“Calm down, sweetheart. A pack bond can’t be manufactured-”

“You said my powers were limitless, Peter. What if I did force a connection between us?”

Peter placed a finger on Stiles’ lips, cutting off his rant. 

“Shhh. Pack bonds are primordial, baby. They’re instinctual. It’s hard to explain but nothing can break or create them but pack. There is no way to manufacture a pack bond that a werewolf, especially a born wolf, can’t sense. It’s like our connection to the phases of the moon, nothing can stop it’s effect on werewolves.”

The longer Peter talked and stroked his hair, the more Stiles allowed himself to relax. 

“You don’t seem too mad about this mate bond business.” 

Peter hesitated on the next stroke of his hand.

“Neither do you, sweetheart. It’s not official unless we strengthen it.”

Stiles turned to look up at Peter. 

“Would you want that? To strengthen it?”

Stiles watched a dark, possessive look take over Peter’s face and it sent a shiver down his spine. Peter stroked his hand over Stiles’ face, moving incrementally lower until he rested his palm over Stiles’ throat. The slight pressure of Peter’s hand was comforting and exciting. No one had ever looked at Stiles like that, no one had ever touched him like Peter did. Stiles started to breath faster, his heart sped up. 

“Let me court you, Stiles. This loft, this whole building, I bought with us in mind. I want this loft to be ours one day, to share with a pack. The cabin I want to be just ours.”

Stiles stared up at Peter, his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. Peter had started to build a home with Stiles in mind? It seemed Stiles wasn’t alone in his high regard for Peter. At Stiles’ continued silence, Peter’s face began to close off. He retracted his hand from Stiles’ throat and leaned back on the couch. 

“Of course, there is no rush. I still want you as my emissary, Stiles. If we don’t nurture our mate bond it will fade a little but still function fully as a normal pack bond. I want you any way I can get you.”

The growl at the end of Peter’s sentence spurred Stiles into action. He leaped up, surprising Peter, and clamored, inelegantly to straddle Peter’s lap. Peter’s hand came up and grasped Stiles’ hips tightly, his clawed fingers digging into Stiles’ flesh as his shirt rode up. The confusion on Peter’s face slid away and a dark heat took over. Stiles imagined he could physically feel how charged the air had become between them. He wiggled his hips to get settled and Peter let out a sharp breath as Stiles ground their hips together. He leaned over Peter until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. Stiles kept a look of fake innocence on his face and made his voice as sultry as he could.

“So how do we nurture our mate bond, alpha? No wait, let me guess...hmmmm. Spending time together? Touching?”

Stiles ran his hands up Peter’s chest, over his shoulders and dragged them through Peter’s hair. Peter’s eyes fell to half mast and he let out a low, rumbling purr. Stiles saw a bit of fang poke through Peter’s lips and crowed internally in delight. 

“Kissing?”

Stiles bussed soft kisses across Peter’s face, giving special attention to the scars on the right side. He continued touching Peter, dragging up Peter’s shirt and running his fingers lightly over the scars on his chest. Stiles wondered idly what they would feel like on his tongue. 

Peter hadn’t moved, still as stone, as if he were afraid moving would make Stiles stop or disappear into smoke. 

“I’m here, Peter. I’m right here. Please, please touch me, kiss me, please-”

As if broken from a spell, Peter surged up and took Stiles’ lips in a passionate kiss. Stiles let out a triumphant moan and melted into Peter’s body, letting Peter lead the kiss. Their lips slid together, Peter’s tongue begging entrance to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles gladly parted his swollen lips to allow Peter access. Their tongues curled together, Peter exploring Stiles’ mouth. 

It made Stiles dizzy, this intimacy. His whole body felt flushed and he clung to Peter, feeling as if he would float away if untethered. As if sensing Stiles’ thoughts, Peter brought his arms around Stiles’ back and flipped their positions, depositing Stiles smoothly to lay on his back, Peter hovering above him. Stiles spread his legs and drew Peter’s hips to rest between his open thighs. 

Their lips met again and Peter pressed himself hard into Stiles, bringing their bodies to touch chest to groin. Stiles felt Peter’s hard length through his jeans and bucked his hips to try to move impossibly closer to Peter. Peter broke away from the kiss with a gasp and pressed his face into Stiles’ neck, letting out a frustrated groan. Stiles whined in protest as Peter moved to kneel over Stiles, their bodies no longer touching. 

“Hey, hey wait, where are you going?”

Stiles ran his hands up under Peter’s shirt again and found his nipples. Peter let out a breathy laugh and leaned back on his haunches, staring down at Stiles, sprawled beneath him, with a satisfied smirk. 

“You look good under me, baby, but I want to take this a bit slower. I want to court you, remember? Let me woo you, sweetheart. I’ll take such good care of you.”

Peter sat on the couch and Stiles groaned and followed him up. They sat side by side and Peter reached over to take his hand, his smile content and the bond soft and warm between them. Stiles couldn’t have denied Peter anything when he looked like that. 

“Ok, Peter, but you better woo the shit out of me. And there better be kisses!”

Peter laughed and placed a gentle kiss on Stiles’ forehead. Stiles blushed.

“There will be as many kisses as you want, sweetheart. Now if I make pancakes again, will you actually eat them?”

***

Afterwards, they settled onto the couch again. Peter sat with his back on the arm rest and Stiles sat in front of him, back to chest, tracing patterns over Peter’s thighs with his fingers. They both stared, mesmerized, at the falling rain effect on the fireplace tv and the sound of clapping thunder relaxed Stiles. This felt good, felt right. Stiles felt like he belonged here, with Peter. Eventually Stiles broke the comfortable silence. 

“You said we had to take care of Talia? How?”

“I won’t let her hurt you. Laura said the only reason Talia hasn’t come after you is because of me. It’s smart of her, I am capable of much more than I was before. More likely to go feral to protect what I have.”

Peter tightened his arms around Stiles’ waist, bringing his face to Stiles’ neck to breath in his scent. It seemed to calm him. 

“We can’t let her go unchecked. I’m going to be an alpha. I can always track down a feral alpha, kill them. It’s rare for a feral werewolf to be an alpha but it happens. I fear it would take too long, give Talia too much time.” 

Stiles sighed and opened his mouth but closed it before he could speak. Peter hummed questioningly into Stiles’ hairline, the vibrations raised goosebumps on his neck. 

“What do you think we should do?”

The question surprised Stiles and he cranked his head around to look at Peter. Peter raised an eyebrow and kept silent, obviously waiting. 

“Well, I think it’s worth bringing Laura and Derek in on this. Maybe all of us together can get through to her. Maybe seeing the worry her children have for her will persuade her to...change course. Show her I’m not a threat, that you aren’t out to get her. Not now, at least.” 

Peter hummed and rocked them side to side. 

“I’d rather just kill her but I’m willing to try one last effort for peace. But if she even fucking looks at you wrong, I’m ripping her throat out with my teeth. I'll bathe you in her blood." 

Stiles wrinkled his nose.

"Gross but strangely...hot."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for a bit of smut. Thanks so much for your comments and kudos! Hope you like this chapter.

The next three weeks were the most blissful that Stiles had ever known. Despite the very real danger that Talia represented, Peter and Stiles were able to take moments for just themselves. Any plans for Talia were stuck in the ‘strategizing’ stage until Laura and Derek could meet with them. Talia was so paranoid that it was difficult to contact Laura and almost impossible to set up a meeting. 

Stiles was able to waylay Laura outside the coffee shop but only said a few words before Laura was cutting him off and leaving, having sensed her mother near. Stiles decided to set the meeting place at the nemeton, feeling more comfortable, more powerful, in the forest. 

Stiles’ days were filled with completing his community service, spending time with his dad and Scott, and cultivating the garden. He only mentioned Peter vaguely to them, saying only that he had met someone and that it seemed serious. Scott was supportive but not pushy and was willing to give Stiles space with his new relationship. 

John, on the other hand, was hard to fend off. Stiles’ dad was constantly asking questions about his mysterious boyfriend. Was he in college? Did he work? When was he coming around? Stiles felt guilty for keeping his dad at a distance but it was a critical time for Peter and he didn’t want to give Talia any more ammunition than she had. The last thing Stiles wanted was Talia using John against him or Peter. 

The garden was coming along beautifully. Peter constantly hunted for druid texts to give to Stiles and they were an endless source of learning. So far there hadn’t been a plant that didn’t respond to Stiles’ nurturing. John had been impressed with the progress, complementing Stiles on his green thumb. 

Stiles didn’t mention his powers to his dad. He felt guilty burdening him further when John was so busy these days. The reawakening of the nemeton had only increased the supernatural activity around Beacon Hills. John was barely eating and sleeping as it was between increased criminal activity and the alarming uptick in disturbance calls by concerned citizens seeing unexplainable things. 

Peter assured Stiles that things would get worse before they got better. The nemeton would be stabilized by its connection to Stiles and the more Stiles grew in power, the more peaceful the region would become. It was an unfortunate waiting game. 

One good thing about the nemeton attracting nefarious beings was that said beings made wonderful sacrifices to the nemeton. More than one night ended in Stiles and Peter making out at midnight in the forest covered in blood. 

Peter spent the better of two weeks “recovering” in the hospital and working some Jedi mind tricks to get himself discharged. Peter was preternaturally able to charm almost anyone and Stiles enjoyed sitting next to him while he did it. 

It didn’t take much from Peter to convince Stiles to spend his nights at Peter’s city apartment. When they weren’t taking romantic night walks in the forest that ended in body disposal, Stiles and Peter spent their nights planning for the future of the pack. It was exciting for Stiles, being included, imagining a world where Stiles was with Peter and they both had a pack to devote themselves to. 

And then there was the wooing: gifts, homemade dinners, praises, kisses under the starlight, dances in the moonlight. Stiles had never felt more cherished. It was so overwhelming and Stiles had no idea how he was going to reciprocate. He firmly believed Peter deserved to be wooed too. 

***

Stiles entered the apartment in a flurry of activity, excitedly bouncing into the kitchen to set down the grocery bags in his hands. He passed Peter on the way and kissed the top of his head. As Stiles put the groceries away, Peter came up behind him and drew Stiles into his arms, chest to back. Stiles leaned into Peter’s arms and his head fell back to rest on Peter’s shoulder. Peter hummed and the vibration from his body ran through Stiles. 

Stiles brought his arms up and dug them into Peter’s hair, pulling. The action earned a playful snarl and a sharp nip to his throat. Stiles sighed. 

“We are so disgustingly domestic.” 

Peter let out an offended huff and brought his hand up to squeeze Stiles’ throat. The sensations raised goosebumps on his skin. Peter’s other hand ran down Stiles’ chest and up under his shirt, coming to rest on his stomach. Peter’s hands were so hot. Stiles melted into Peter’s body and turned his head to spread fluttery kisses over Peter’s face. 

“I’ve never been happier, Stiles. The way you make me feel is indescribable. No one has ever embraced me like you have. I don’t have to hide myself from you.”

Stiles shivered at his words as Peter continued, placing a kiss to Stiles’ face and shoulders at each new word. 

“You’re so smart, powerful, beautiful.”

Stiles felt like he could sink through the floor and float through the ceiling at the same time. Peter held up Stiles’ full weight in his strong arms. The hand on his throat tightened the smallest amount and Stiles gasped. Peter whispered in his ear. 

“I have something for you.”

Stiles groaned.

“Another gift? You know I love your gifts, Peter, but it’s completely unnecessary. As long as we spend time together, I’m happy.” 

“This gift is a bit...different.” 

Peter’s voice grew deeper and the hand on his stomach dipped to play with the waistband of Stiles’ sweatpants. Stiles sucked in a breath. 

“Oh? What, uh, what did you have in mind?”

Peter chuckled darkly and his hand went beneath Stiles’ pants to cup his half hard cock. The heat of Peter’s hand had Stiles bucking his hips and clenching his jaw. A whine escaped him as Peter buried his face in Stiles’ neck, rubbing his short beard on the soft, sensitive skin. Stiles wanted to feel that beard between his legs. 

Peter kept the hand around his cock loose and started moving. Stiles groaned in frustration. He could feel the smile on Peter’s face against the skin of his neck. 

“I want to take your delicious cock in my mouth, baby. And then I want you to come down my throat. And maybe, if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you return the favor. Do you want to get on your knees for me, sweetheart?” 

He cried out as Peter tightened his hand on Stiles’ dick and gave a hard bite to his shoulder. He tried to push into Peter’s fist but Peter stayed his hips, pressing him back. Peter pushed his hips forward at the same time and slotted his hard length between the globes of Stiles’ ass. 

"Yes, Peter, please, I'll be so good for you."

Peter spun Stiles around, pulling up on his thighs to lift him. He jumped a little and wound his legs around Peter hips, locking his feet together. Their cocks brushed and they both moaned. Peter deposited Stiles onto the kitchen island counter and pushed him to lie on his back. 

"What, no, Peter, I don't want my first ever blowjob to be in the kitchen!"

Peter chuckled and unlocked Stiles' ankles. He then removed Stiles' sweatpants and underwear in one pass. His cock slapped against his abdomen and Peter licked his lips, staring at it, his eyes were swallowed by black pupils. He reached up and tucked Stiles' shirt under his chin, not bothering to remove it, and wrapped Stiles' thighs around his neck. He had never felt more exposed. 

"We should do it here, baby. I want you to think about my mouth on you every morning at breakfast. Every evening when we cook dinner I want you to remember my throat squeezing you, milking your come."

Stiles whined high and long, bucking his hips and writhing under Peter. 

"Gods, Peter. You're fucking filthy. Please, please!"

Peter dipped his head to run his tongue up the length of Stiles' cock. 

"It's ok, sweetheart, I've got you."

Peter took his time exploring Stiles with his mouth. Stiles dug his feet into Peter's back and writhed uncontrollably. Peter set a torturous pace but Stiles was loathe to complain, he wanted to savor this. Peter brought a hand up to roll Stiles' heavy balls in his hand, squeezing gently. Stiles gasped as Peter took him deeply into his throat, swallowing rapidly. 

"Peter, Peter, you feel so good." 

Stiles continued to babble insensibly and was barely aware of bringing his hands up to snatch at Peter's hair, pulling hard. The action made Peter growl and he pulled Stiles out of his mouth with a wet pop, eyes glowing bright blue. He caught Stiles' hands in his and slammed them against the counter by Stiles' head.

"Be good and keep your hands here, baby. Try not to move too much for this next part."

Stiles obeyed but squirmed with nervous energy.

"What next part?" 

"I want to taste you everywhere, baby. Is that ok?"

Peter pressed kisses into the skin of his abdomen and up his thighs. Peter then pressed Stiles' knees as far up and out as he could bend, exposing Stiles fully. Stiles was embarrassed by the loud breathy moan that escaped him, clenching his hole under Peter's hungry gaze.

"Oh God, Peter. You're every fucking fantasy I've ever had." 

That surprised a delighted laugh out of Peter and earned Stiles a tender look. Stiles flushed even more from Peter's easy affection than he did the sexual contact. Peter playfully nipped at the soft flesh of Stiles' thighs, releasing a rumbling growl.

"I've barely made a dent on all the things I want to do to you, sweetheart."

"You're gonna kill me."

Stiles buried his face in his hands, groaning in mock despair. Peter gave him a feral grin as his face disappeared lower between Stiles' legs. Stiles felt him run his rough facial hair on each thigh, as if to scent him. 

"I'm pretty sure I'll always smell like you now." 

Peter growled possessively and jerked Stiles' hips roughly until he was balanced on the end of the counter.

"I'll make sure you always fucking smell of me. Smell of my scent, my come. Remember to keep your hands up, baby." 

Stiles felt a hot, slick lick over his hole and writhed in shock at the intense sensation. Peter redoubled his grip on his thighs, pressing them harder up and apart. 

"So sensitive, baby. Are you going to come so soon? From just my tongue?"

Peter bit hard on Stiles' thigh and soothed the pain with soft kisses. He could tell that would leave a bruise and it sent a dark thrill through him, to be marked by Peter. 

"You're only allowed to come in my mouth, Stiles. Understand? I need you to hold back until I'm done with your tight hole." 

Stiles felt light headed from how hard he was panting. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. The slightest touch from Peter would tip him over the edge but he wanted to be good for Peter. He fisted his own hair and pulled, trying to ground his thoughts.

"I understand, Peter. I'll be good, I swear. Please!" 

Stiles felt as Peter turned his attention back to his hole, licking broad stripes over the tightened furl. He massaged Stiles' thighs with his hands as he explored. The touch helped ground Stiles even more to the present, helped him concentrate on not coming all over himself.

The tension created by staying still made Stiles moan louder and louder as Peter worked him loose and wet. His moans echoed across the kitchen and Stiles was glad that the whole building was empty, sure that someone would be able to hear him from the parking lot. The thought of being overheard drove Stiles even more crazy. 

"Peter, please, I can't take any more!"

"Ok, baby. You can come whenever you want." 

Peter's face reappeared from between Stiles' thighs and he took a moment to stare at Stiles. He felt Peter's gaze like a physical caress and he squirmed until Peter dipped his head, taking Stiles into his mouth and the back of his throat. There was no finesse to Peter's technique now. He moved his head on Stiles' length fast and sloppy, keeping Stiles' hips pinned to the counter. Stiles' throat felt raw as he screamed and let go of his self control, coming hard and fast down Peter's throat. 

He laid there completely boneless, useless, as Peter placed soft, tender kisses of the bruises on Stiles' thighs and hips. He pulled himself together and reached forward to paw at the zipper of Peter's jeans. He paused in shock as his fingers brushed over a large wet spot. 

"Um, Peter, did you..?" 

Peter chuckled and he didn't seem the least bit embarrassed at having come, untouched, in his pants. Stiles pouted.

"I wanted to taste you. I've never given a blowjob before…"

He fluttered his eyelashes, letting Peter help him up. Peter gave him a feral smirk and a gentle kiss. 

"I can't help it, baby. The way you smell, the fucking sounds you make, you drive me crazy. You’ll have plenty of chances to be on your knees for me, I promise.”

Stiles blushed and brought his arms up to embrace Peter, pulling him into Stiles' throat. Peter rubbed his face in his throat and breathed deeply. 

"I want to take care of you too, Peter. You deserve it."

"Stiles, I love taking care of you. You've always put others first, haven't you? Your dad, your friends. Let me take care of you."

"I'll let you spoil me, Peter. But I get to spoil you, too."

Stiles sighed and clung to Peter, wrapping his legs around Peter's waist, his arms around his neck. 

"Carry me to the shower and then I think we should take a nap." 

“Yes, dear.”

***

After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, Stiles was prepared to walk out Peter’s door to go to the hospital. He drew Peter into a goodbye kiss that landed more on the filthy side and reluctantly pulled away. 

“I really should go.”

“I know, baby.” 

Peter grasped Stiles’ hand in his and drew it to his lips, kissing the sensitive skin of his wrist. Stiles’ breath caught and he held Peter’s hand before Peter could pull back. 

“Why do you do that? The whole kissing my wrist...it feels important.”

Peter smiled dimly and Stiles sensed he was nervous. 

“It’s where a mating bite would go. It’s instinct for me to touch you there. The instinct must be bleeding into our bond, for you to feel it.” 

Stiles stared at Peter in shock. 

“You really need to find me some werewolf culture books, Peter.” 

Peter squeezed his hand and stepped back, a bit subdued. 

“I have no expectations, Stiles. You’re so young and our relationship is so new...If it makes you uncomfortable-”

Stiles jumped the space between them and slapped both hands over Peter’s mouth. The skin around Peter’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. 

“Whoa, Peter, slow down. I like it, that you are thinking of a permanent future for us. I’m so grateful to be with you. You’re amazing and so good to me. I just really need those books so I won’t be blindsided every other day by culture shock.”

“Or I could just tell you, baby. Some things are better learned by personal experience...like how to take a knot.”

Peter let out a teasing growl, his grin wicked as Stiles spluttered and blushed bright red. Peter handed Stiles his lunch box and maneuvered him out of the loft. 

“You’re joking right? That’s a joke?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see…”

The door shut in Stiles’ face and he groaned in frustration, banging his head against it. He could hear Peter laughing as he descended the stairs. What a fucking tease.

***

“Hey, pretty boy! Yeah, you! Come here.” 

Stiles paused and affected an offended air, placing his hands on his hips as a beautiful young woman followed him out of the hospital lobby and into the parking lot. Her long brown hair whipped behind her as she strutted up to him and crossed her arms, her black leather jacket creaking. She appraised him openly, rudely, and tapped a booted foot on the asphalt. 

“Uh, hi. Do I know you?” 

She rolled her eyes.

“No, idiot. I’m looking for Peter. They said he was discharged and that you worked with him.”

She poked a finger into his chest, it hurt. Stiles took a step back from the woman, reassessing. She didn’t smell like Kevin had, like wolfsbane and gunpowder. He didn’t feel a violent intent from her, just general misanthropy. Her aura seemed familiar but Stiles kept his guard up. 

“Ok, stranger I have never met, why would I tell you anything about Peter?”

The woman scoffed in disgust and leaned against Roscoe. 

“Your car is lame.”

Stiles was becoming increasingly lost in this conversation. 

“Well...it’s a jeep and it was my mom’s. I guess I prefer sentimentality over a coolness factor.”

The woman picked at her cuticles and frowned. 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“You didn’t know. Who the hell are you?” 

She bit her lip and re crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. 

“Cora Hale.”

Stiles felt as if she had punched him. He waved his hands in the air and shook his head swiftly, reeling in shock.

“Excuse me, what now?”

His voice came out shrill and too loud. Cora leaned over and smacked him on the back of his head. 

“Keep your damn voice down, no one knows I’m in town.”

Stiles spluttered and whisper yelled at her. 

“No one knows you're alive!”

Cora frowned and tilted her head in confusion. 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Stiles placed his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes squarely, trying to convey how serious he was. 

“Cora, everyone thinks you died in the fire.”

Cora shook her head violently and knocked his hands off of her. She growled.

“No! No, I’ve been living with a pack in South America. Mom sent me there until it was safe to return. She’s been keeping me updated.”

“Updated on what? Do Laura and Derek know?”

Cora reeled back from Stiles as if he had slapped her. 

“Fuck you! Laura and Derek are dead! Only mom, Peter and I survived the fire.”

Stiles ran a hand roughly over his face and sighed, stunned. What was going on. Cora paced back and forth in front of the jeep, looking ready to run. Stiles put his hands up. 

“Ok, ok, listen Cora. Laura and Derek are alive. They live with Talia on the preserve. I’m pretty sure they think you’re the one that’s dead. I can guarantee you that Peter doesn't know you're alive. We’ve discussed you specifically and he thinks you died in the fire.” 

Peter had reminisced to Stiles occasionally about the family that he had lost. Cora had come up the most. He had doted on the little firecracker she had been and she had adored her favorite uncle. 

“Let me take you to Peter, Cora. He’s recovered and has a den near here.”

Cora paused in her pacing and spun to face Stiles, her face open and heartbreakingly hopeful. 

“A den, Peter has a pack?”

Stiles cleared his throat. 

“Well, right now it’s just me and Peter but there is a lot of room to grow.”

Cora sighed and nodded. 

“Yeah, take me to Uncle Peter.”

***

Stiles wasn’t cruel and he had zero motivation to give Peter a shock so he called him on the way over, Cora slumped in the passenger seat of the jeep. Peter didn't believe him at first and demanded to talk to Cora. They spent a few moments in tense conversation before Cora hung up the phone. Stiles saw a single tear run down her cheek. 

“Almost there.”

Peter was at the top of the staircase when they arrived at the loft and Cora bounded up the stairs to fall into his arms. It was touching and beautiful and Stiles totally didn't cry. They finally turned to enter the loft and Stiles excused himself to make spiked hot cocoa, more rum than chocolate. While he worked he listened to the pair murmur back and forth too low for Stiles to make out words. Every time he glanced at them, they were laughing and smiling, shoulders relaxed, happy.

He placed three mugs on the coffee table and let Peter pull him gently to sit at his side. Peter nuzzled into his neck and put an arm around Stiles’ shoulder, pulling their bodies flush. Cora smiled faintly but rolled her eyes in mock disgust, picking up her mug. 

“So is this your mate?”

Stiles blushed and hid his face while Peter chuckled. 

“Future mate and emissary for my pack.” 

Cora frowned. 

“You plan on being an alpha?”

Peter nodded, turning serious. 

“Yes, and Talia is the most logical avenue to achieve that goal.” 

Cora hunched her shoulders, peering into her mug, sullen. 

“I can’t believe she fucking lied to everyone. What is going through her head?”

Cora brought her fist down on her thigh then dug her claws in, drawing blood.

“She sent me away, Peter. Left me alone and thinking that this place was overrun by hunters. She said she was fighting for her life every day. It wasn’t safe.”

Peter reached past Stiles and took her hand in his. She looked up, lost. 

“Laura told me that she has been acting increasingly unstable since the fire. Like something snapped. It seemed like she was scared.” 

They both turned to Stiles as he spoke. Cora frowned. 

“Scared of mom?”

“Yeah, Laura said she barely recognized her some days. She’s been paranoid and controlling and now we know she’s been lying to everyone.” 

Peter rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed Cora’s hand. 

“I’ve seen this before, trauma causing the apha spark to destabilize. The alpha goes crazy, turns on their pack and hurts them, even kills them. The alpha spark is potent. It enhances all the senses, making a werewolf powerful, dependable. Better able to protect and support. It’s a delicate balancing act, one that can be easily disrupted, especially without sufficient pack support. I’m not excusing her actions, she chose the path that led her to this.”

Peter paused and met Cora’s eyes. 

“Talia needs to be dealt with. She isn't protecting her territory, the land is falling into chaos. She isn't protecting her pack, using deception and intimidation to keep the peace. She’s always relied on a heavy hand to lead the pack but she has gone too far.”

Cora released a breath and leaned back further in the plush couch, her face contemplative. 

“Are you going to kill her.”

Peter kissed Stiles’ shoulder and stood, coming to kneel before Cora, taking her hands in his. 

“I’m prepared to do what it takes to become alpha, to stop Talia and her destructive spiral. But...Stiles, Laura and Derek want to try to reach her. I’m willing to give Talia a chance to cede the alpha spark to me. But if not, I’m stopping her by any means necessary.” 

Stiles spoke up. 

“We’re meeting Laura and Derek tonight. Come with us.”

Cora looked between Peter and Stiles, deep in thought. She nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m with you Uncle Peter. All the way.”

Peter’s smile seemed to light up the whole room.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos!!!! Nearing the end, folks.

Peter took Stiles’ hand as they entered the forest, walking side by side. Cora loped ahead of them, circling back, urging them forward, more lupine than human in her mannerisms. Stiles leaned close to Peter, whispered in his ear and watched the goosebumps form on his neck. 

“I think she’s excited.”

Peter chuckled, a perfect study of the indulgent uncle. 

“She hasn’t seen her pack for years, thinking them dead. Forgive her impatience, baby.” 

Stiles held up his unoccupied hand.

“Hey, I’m not judging. It’s kinda cute.” 

He didn’t hear Cora circle back as they talked about her and yelped when she jumped on his back, growling.

“I can hear you, punk! I’ll show you cute!”

Stiles let out a loud, open mouthed laugh, throwing his head back and started running as she let go of him. He glanced over his shoulder and met Peter’s eyes, lit with amusement and something darker that sent a pleasant chill down his spine. Suddenly, he wished it was Peter he ran from. Cora chased him through the trees, growling and yelling and Stiles couldn’t help the carefree laughter that bubbled out of him. This felt nice, he felt...happy. 

He could run forever in the forest, the trees sighing and content in his presence and an irate werewolf mock hunting him. Stiles stumbled, shocked as his mind registered a new thread in his chest. It pulled taut, twisted in his chest and he almost missed his next step down. Cora easily caught him, tackling him to the ground. They landed in a writhing pile of limbs, growls and Stiles’ offended squawks of protest. He was subdued quickly and submitted, relaxing into the half nelson hold she had on him. 

“I give, I give!” 

Cora let go, cackling as Stiles slumped into the dirt. Peter laughed at their display. 

“Does this happen a lot? We’re gonna need more puppies for you to play with. I’m too delicate and squishy for manhandling.” 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll treat you more gently than that.” 

Peter’s voice was soft and sweet but a layer of steel underneath it sent Stiles blushing and stuttering, trying not to get aroused around Cora. Cora made a disgusted sound. 

“Gross. Flirt when I’m not here, please.” 

Stiles huffed and brought himself to his knees, brushing leaves and dirt from his yellow plaid shirt. He prodded at the new pack bond and Cora stilled, her hands stopped halfway to run through her hair. She stared at Stiles, stunned, her face open and vulnerable. She swallowed twice. 

“Was that…”

Stiles smiled, pushing all the warmth and affection he had for Cora through their pack bond. 

“Yeah, a pack bond.” 

Peter let out a wounded sound and both Cora and Stiles turned, alarmed at the sound. Peter looked away, hiding his face but Stiles saw the shimmer of tears. Cora turned back to Stiles, looking panicked and unsure. Stiles jumped to his feet, approached Peter swiftly and embraced him from behind. He molded their bodies together, placing his chin on Peter’s shoulder, clasping his hands in front of Peter’s stomach. He opened his mouth, hesitant.

“Peter?” 

Peter drew in a ragged breath and lowered his hand to grip Stiles’. 

“Sorry, it’s just...I feel it too. It’s impossible. Our bond exists because we are mates, Stiles. But...now Cora.”

Stiles could feel Cora edging closer to them. Peter sighed and turned around in Stiles’ arms. His eyes were dry and his face was crumpled into a confused, almost angry, expression. 

“Without an Alpha, we shouldn’t be connected like this with pack bonds. The Alpha anchors the bond, connects the pack.”

Stiles pulled Peter closer with arms around his neck, looking into his eyes. 

“Well, obviously it’s not impossible. Maybe...maybe it’s because Cora and I want you to be our Alpha?”

Peter hummed and reached out, pulling Cora into a group hug. She snuggled in against Stiles’ back, her head between his shoulder blades. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“Do you think it could be me? Something to do with my Spark?”

Cora scoffed and stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. 

“Who cares? We have pack bonds and Peter is our Alpha no matter what. Why poke the sleeping wolf?”

Peter and Stiles stepped apart, smiling at her. Peter took his hand again and tugged him to start walking. 

“Thank you both. I’d be lost without you. I suppose it’s not an urgent issue, I’ll be an alpha soon enough. We should research it though. It’s lazy to attribute every odd occurrence to Stiles’ Spark.”

Stiles paused to look back at Cora, she hadn’t moved from their previous spot. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulders slumped. She toed the dirt with her boot, nervous. 

“Peter...I wanted to apologize. I should have never left your side, I should have fought harder against mom, fought harder to stay-”

Peter was in front of her in the blink of Stiles’ eye, raising her chin, meeting her eyes. 

“Shh, Cora. I don’t blame you, I blame Talia. She was the instrument that tore us apart. She manipulated you and sent you away to fend for yourself in another country. You were a child, hurt and lost. You believed your mother, your alpha. I wish I had been awake to comfort you and stop Talia’s schemes.” 

Cora sniffed, sounding close to tears. 

“I don’t blame you either, Uncle Peter. But...I’m glad I’m here now.”

Peter hummed and kissed her forehead. He turned, placing an arm around her shoulders and started walking again. Stiles followed close behind, smiling softly. Peter looked over his shoulder, winking at Stiles. 

“Now, let’s go scare the hell out of your brother and sister.”

***

It was dusk by the time they reached the clearing with the nemeton. Stiles and Peter stepped out first, leaving Cora in the darkness at the edge of the woods. Stiles had been sure that the two Hale siblings would sense her but they seemed otherwise occupied. 

Laura sat on the ground, her back to them and Derek hovered over her, stooping and grimacing as he dabbed gently at her face. The smell of blood wafted to them on the wind and Peter growled, his eyes flashing blue. He strode over to them, Stiles following more slowly. 

Laura turned as they approached and Stiles gasped, stumbling. Peter caught his elbow and drew them both to crouch before Laura. Derek stood behind her, arms crossed. She turned around to fully face them and Stiles placed his hands gently on her face. 

She was almost unrecognizable, bleeding, bruised and swollen. Her left eye was swollen shut. Laura tried to smile but winced when the split on her lip opened and oozed blood sluggishly. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Peter dig clawed fingers into the moss and dirt, gouging deep. 

“What happened, Laura. Why aren’t these healing?”

Peter growled. 

“Alpha wounds.” 

Stiles gaped, glancing to Derek. Derek went to his knees behind Laura, placing a hand on her shoulder. Stiles shook his head and dropped his hands to fist them in the bottom of his shirt. 

“Alpha as in…”

Laura nodded and met Peter’s eyes. Peter looked murderous, his chest rising and falling with exaggerated control. 

“Mom...she didn’t like, that is, I didn’t mean to challenge her, I swear. She was mad that we failed in capturing Stiles and I asked why we couldn’t just meet with you. Talk about this. She went crazy, yelling. Saying I was challenging her to be Alpha. I tried to reason with her but…”

Laura lifted a hand to touch her bleeding lip. 

“Well, she went after me. Derek tried to stop her but I got us out of there before she turned on him. I think, well, it didn’t seem like she was going to stop until I was dead.”

Derek let out a soft whine and buried his head in Laura’s shoulder, grasping his fists into her jacket. Peter was vibrating with repressed violence and Laura bowed her head, looking scared of him. Stiles grabbed his hands, lifting them out of the dirt and rubbing them between his own. 

“You’re scaring her, Peter.” 

Peter shook his head and calmed outwardly but Stiles could feel his wrath through their bond. He felt Cora’s confusion and worry, Peter’s anger bleeding down her pack bond as well. Peter reached out and drew Laura to him, setting her head into the hollow of his neck and throat. She let out a tortured, teary sigh and pressed her face there, scenting him. Peter reached out, trying to pull in Derek but he resisted, leaning back on his haunches. 

The sun had dipped well below the treeline and Stiles conjured small balls of light. They hovered over their heads, casting shadows around them. Derek gave Stiles an impressed look and Stiles blushed, shrugging his shoulders, not used to showing his powers to anyone but Peter. Peter squeezed Laura tighter and nuzzled the top of her head. 

“I’m not mad at you, Laura. I’m furious at Talia. Going after her betas, her own children! I won’t let this abuse stand. We are dealing with this now, tonight.”

Peter’s voice was deep and guttural. Laura said nothing, staying limp in Peter’s embrace but Derek reeled back in shock, shaking his head. 

“What do you mean? How are you ‘dealing’ with mom?”

Derek rose and paced away from them, hovering near the edge of the clearing. He looked ready to bolt into the dark trees. Laura reached out a shaky hand as if to stop him leaving but Derek ignored her, his gaze never left Peter. Peter didn’t let go of Laura, glaring at Derek. 

“I mean I’m stopping this farce, nephew. Talia is not worthy of the alpha spark, not after this. She could have killed your sister! She wanted to hurt Stiles!”

Peter passed over Laura to Stiles when she started shaking from the tone of Peter’s voice. She leaned against Stiles’ shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They both watched as Peter rose slowly and stood in front of them, facing Derek. 

“Do you condone what she has done, Derek? I can guess as to what her future plans are. Stop me, the true challenger, at all costs. She has shown today that should her own children stand in her way, she will strike them down.”

Derek’s eyes shifted to Laura and then back to Peter, not quite keeping eye contact with him. His face was pale, his eyes wet and his body shook with repressed emotion. Peter held out a hand, palm up, a silent entreaty to Derek. 

“I can protect you, Derek. I want to protect you.”

Derek swallowed visibly and hunched into himself. 

“But...we abandoned you, left you in the hospital alone. The pack bonds were severed, Peter!”

Peter didn’t move and didn’t retract his hand. 

“I forgive you, Derek.”

“How can you? What we did to you…”

Peter moved to Derek, slowly. His outstretched hand cupped Derek’s cheek. Derek let out a wounded sob and pressed his cheek further into Peter’s hand. Stiles couldn’t see the look on Peter’s face but from Derek’s reaction as he gazed into his uncle’s eyes it must have been gentle, forgiving. 

“I forgive you, Derek. There is no ‘why’ or ‘how’, it just is.”

At that, Derek lurched forward into Peter’s arms and buried his face in his neck. Stiles felt tears in his eyes and the presence of Cora come closer behind him. He turned to find her sobbing quietly at the scene before them, inching closer as if afraid of her welcome. 

Derek lifted his head from Peter’s shoulder and gasped, looking past Stiles to Cora. He stumbled back and slumped against a tree behind him, rigid, his eyes wide and frightened. He opened his mouth as if to speak but no words emerged. 

Laura turned to follow his eyes and let out a loud confused yell, standing and hauling Stiles to his feet roughly. She placed herself between Stiles and Cora as if to protect him. Cora sobbed harder at their reaction, looking tortured and alone across the clearing. Peter moved over to Cora despite protests from Laura and pulled Cora into his side, moving them to stand in front of Laura. Cora stared at the ground. 

“Stop this! This is how you greet your sister?”

Peter was irate, glaring at the other two Hale siblings. Derek inched slowly to stand beside Laura and took her hand. Stiles made his way around them to stand on the other side of Cora, placing his arm around her back. His arm came to rest atop Peter’s, a strong line of support for Cora. Laura shook violently and spoke.

“Cora?”

Cora nodded and Derek looked down in shame. 

“I thought...you were a ghost.”

Cora gave a shaky laugh and raised her head, smiling tentatively at Derek and Laura. 

“Idiot.”

They smiled back, radiant. The five of them fell together in an embrace, Cora in the middle, finally home and happy.

***

Later, after a tearful puppy pile on the forest floor next to the nemeton, Peter sent the other Hales to his hidden cabin. They disappeared into the darkness of the forest, arms around each other, leaving Stiles and Peter standing hand in hand.

They stood next to the nemeton and Stiles felt emotionally exhausted and even more determined to protect his pack. These werewolves had been just as adrift and lost as Stiles had felt for most of his life. They belonged together. He wouldn’t let anyone tear them apart and Stiles knew that Peter felt the same. 

A sharp snap of a twig shattered Stiles’ introspection. Peter tensed next to him and the lights Stiles had produced illuminated the edge of the forest just enough that Stiles could see a shadowy figure. The figure stilled at the sound and then lurched into motion, trying to flee. Before Stiles could think he whipped out his hand, calling to the trees around the suspicious intruder, and felt them respond viciously. Roots burst from the ground, thick and sinewy, halting the fleeing figure. 

Peter raised an eyebrow and they both advanced closer to the person caught in the roots, pulling the magical lights with them. The light revealed the disheveled and furious face of Jennifer, Peter’s former nurse. 

Stiles and Peter shared a glance, Stiles confused and Peter darkly amused. Jennifer was fighting the roots, making them tighten against her skin, pulling bruises to the surface. The roots were wrapped around her body like tentacles, pulling her limbs close, her body stiff and not touching the ground. She was cursing and spitting at them. Peter chuckled. 

“Well, I can tell by your reaction to being caught, you’re not out for a night time stroll. Spying on us, were you?” 

He walked a circle around Jennifer and then leaned in to smell her. He smiled triumphantly and grinned like a shark. 

“Ah, you smell like my dear sister. Has she been paying you to report to her even through my prolonged convalescence? A creeping rat among the shadows, scampering back to your master with tasty morsels? Were you scurrying into the dark to report on my pack?”

Stiles stood and watched in fascination as Peter strutted and postured, intimidating their captive. He felt a searing hot arousal seeing Peter like this, dark and deadly. Ready to kill for this betrayal, to kill for his pack. 

Peter’s eyes flicked to Stiles and he smirked knowingly. Stiles flushed a little under his gaze, sure that Peter had felt his white hot need through their bond. Jennifer snarled and spit right into Peter’s face. Peter closed his eyes, tensing his jaw, seeming to retrain a violent need to retaliate against the insult. 

“You fucking beast!”

Stiles tilted his hand and the roots responded to his will, repositioning Jennifer to be spread eagle, tightly circling her wrists and knees and slithering up to wind around her neck. She began to choke. Peter opened his eyes and his gaze was blank and unforgiving. 

“You’ve made a grave mistake, Jennifer, going against my pack. A mistake that can’t be forgiven, I’m afraid.” 

Peter paced over to the nemeton and motioned for Stiles to follow. He did, bringing Jennifer and the roots with him. Stiles came to stand in front of Peter, facing him and a still choking Jennifer hovered beside them. Her face was quickly turning purple. 

Peter took Stiles’ face between his hands and caressed Stiles’ bottom lip with his thumbs. The motion sent shivers down Stiles’ spine and he stepped close to Peter, bringing their bodies to meet. He wound his arms around Peter’s back, clutching at his shirt. Peter’s eyes were half closed, only the slightest sliver of neon blue could be seen. He was partially shifted, fangs glinting in the magic lights and Stiles pressed soft, breathy kisses to the scars and hairy ridges on his face. 

“How fortuitous that we caught this threat here, in front of the nemeton. She practically gift wrapped herself for us, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

The forest was silent and dark around them. The only sound was the torturous gasps of a slowly dying Jennifer. Stiles leaned in slow, savoring the seconds before his lips found Peter’s. They kissed, warm and slow, making Stiles dizzy. His body warmed and he clutched harder to Peter’s back, trying to anchor himself. He opened his mouth to Peter’s entreating tongue and his knees grew weak as Peter fucked his mouth hot and rough, mapping his soft palate and biting harshly at Stiles’ lips.

With a thought that felt far away, Stiles pushed his magical power to the tree roots holding Jennifer. They pulled apart, tearing limbs from body, drenching the nemeton and the two lovers in blood. With his eyes still closed, Stiles continued to kiss Peter even as the blood landed on his face, his neck, dripping down to melt into their kiss, adding a coppery tang to the taste of Peter’s tongue. 

Peter’s hand left his face, running down Stiles’ writhing body to cup his ass and roughly grind their straining erections together. Stiles broke from the kiss to gasp, falling against Peter fully, unable to support his weight anymore. Peter held him up easily. Stiles spoke, his voice hoarse with need, his lips rasping against Peter’s.

“Peter, please, Peter.”

“Anything, my love.”

Stiles tucked his head into Peter’s neck, feeling both shy and wanton. He felt so exposed and it was hard for him to articulate what he wanted from Peter. He wanted Peter to hold him, fuck him, keep him safe. He groaned and frotted against Peter’s cock. 

“Please, use me, Peter. I want you to use me.”

Peter gently pried Stiles’ face away to meet his eyes. They were dark, swallowed up by black. Peter’s face was ravenous but his body exuded control. Peter controlled himself and Stiles wanted that control to extend outward to engulf him. Peter brought two fingers up to tap on Stiles’ lips and pushed them into his mouth as he opened under them. 

“You want to serve me, baby? I’m going to use this pretty mouth of yours until I’m satisfied. And you’re going to let me. You’ll kneel at my feet as long as I wish it. Right, baby?”

Stiles nodded frantically, sucking on Peter’s fingers. Peter kissed his forehead and removed his fingers. Stiles whimpered and Peter hushed him, pushing downward on Stiles’ shoulders. 

“On your knees, my love.”

Stiles fell to his knees, feeling loose limbed and too hot. His face was close to the crotch of Peter’s jeans and Peter’s knuckles brushed his face as he opened his button and zipper. Stiles reached up to help and Peter caught his wrists, squeezing hard enough to bruise. It made Stiles’ breath catch and he felt his cock leaking through his underwear. Peter tsked. 

“No touching, baby. Just let go.”

Stiles nodded, meeting Peter’s eyes and brought his fisted hands to lay atop his thighs. Peter ran a hand through Stiles’ hair, pulling gently before letting go. Stiles followed his large, dexterous hands, one scarred, one smooth, as they unzipped his jeans and reached in and pulled Peter’s cock free. 

Stiles laid his hands flat on his own thighs, digging his fingers in, trying so hard not to reach out and touch Peter. His cocked bobbed in front of Stiles’ face, brushing gently against his lips, smearing precome. Stiles shook and barely restrained himself from licking his lips and tasting Peter, afraid that Peter wouldn’t want him to. Peter brought both of his hands to Stiles’ head, weaving his fingers through his hair and supporting Stiles’ skull firmly. 

“We’ll go slow for now, baby. Open up, relax your jaw and look at me. Don’t look away from my eyes no matter what, got it?”

“Yes.” 

Peter hummed as Stiles met his eyes. Stiles hesitated for a moment, worried that he would look foolish at Peter’s feet with his mouth hanging open. Peter waited patiently and Stiles brushed off his insecurities, deciding to trust Peter and wanting nothing more than to make Peter happy. He opened his mouth slowly, not looking away from Peter’s eyes. Peter bit his lip and let out a harsh breath, his chest falling and rising faster. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. So perfect for me. You make me so happy, baby.”

Stiles relaxed at the praise, his shoulders falling from their tensed position, his hands spasming on his thighs. Peter noticed to motion of his hands. 

“Remember, don’t touch. If it’s too hard, clasp your hands behind your back.”

Stiles nodded, his mouth still open, but didn’t move his hands. He stayed still, waiting for Peter, his cock hard and leaking, panting and feeling desperate for the tiniest touch. Before he could start begging, Peter pulled his head forward and lined up his cock, placing the head just inside Stiles’ mouth, to sit on his tongue. 

“Close your mouth around me, baby. Taste me.”

Stiles closed his mouth as tightly as he could and sucked gently. Peter was leaking generously and a salty, bitter tang invaded Stiles’ taste buds. Peter’s breath hitched and he pulled hard on Stiles’ hair, making him moan. Stiles caught himself before he could close his eyes and enjoy the sensations Peter gave him. He forced his eyes to stay open, tearing up slightly. 

The strain to obey was worth it to see the effect he had on Peter. Peter’s eyes were closed and his head was slightly tilted back. The magic lights around them revealed Peter’s half shifted face, fangs digging into his bottom lip, drawing blood. After a few moments of Stiles suckling gently, Peter opened his eyes and looked down at Stiles, drinking him in. 

“So good, baby. Feels so good.”

Stiles warmed and tried to push forward to take more of Peter into his mouth. Peter pulled his hair hard and this time it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. It hurt and Stiles gasped, Peter’s cock sliding out of his mouth. 

“I control the pace, Stiles.”

His voice wasn’t harsh or mean but it held a power that washed over Stiles. He nodded as best he could under Peter’s grasp, looking into Peter’s snarling face. 

“I’m sorry, Peter. Want you so bad.”

“I know, baby. It’s ok, you have me. You have me.”

Peter’s face relaxed into a serene expression and he entered Stiles’ mouth again, shallowly thrusting. Stiles relaxed into Peter’s hand until he thrusted deeper, hitting the back of Stiles’ throat. He choked, not prepared and tried to lean back away from Peter’s cock. Peter’s shushed him, keeping Stiles in place with the hands in his hair. 

“It’s ok, baby. We can take it slow. For now, just close your mouth around me again and suck while I thrust.”

Peter started thrusting again as Stiles sucked. The cock in his mouth pulsed and widened and Peter gasped, bringing his hand to work the bit of the shaft that Stiles couldn’t take in his mouth. 

“So good, baby. I’m going to come. Open your mouth, tongue out.”

Stiles was too aroused to feel self conscious as he followed Peter’s instructions. He opened his mouth wide, tongue straining and watched Peter fall apart as he orgasmed. His fist flew over his cock, almost too fast to see and Peter held Stiles’ eyes. 

Peter grit his teeth, looking vicious and wild, and came in hot spurts on Stiles’ face, moaning loudly. Most of the come landed on Stiles cheek and neck but some landed on his tongue. Stiles closed his mouth, savoring the taste, intrigued. It wasn’t a great taste but Stiles would drink it down to see Peter like this, sated and loose limbed.  
Peter ran a lazy hand down Stiles’ face, rubbing the come into his skin before hauling Stiles up to stand. Stiles’ head spun at the sudden movement and he tucked his face into Peter’s neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Peter pulled Stiles’ cock out and let him desperately fuck into his fist. 

He was so close and Peter’s warm embrace, Peter’s scent got him there faster than the stimulation to his cock. He came hard and fast, gasping and groaning, then falling limp. Peter held him, whispering praises into his hair until Stiles came back to himself. 

He felt warm and safe and happy. He smiled and pressed a kiss into Peter’s throat before leaning back to take in Peter’s radiant face. He smiled dopily and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Peter’s lips before whispering softly. 

“I love you.” 

Peter stilled in his arms, not breathing. The action made Stiles tense and start to panic. Was it too soon? Why did Stiles have to ruin everything good in his life? Stiles was an idiot. His breath came too fast and he tried to break away from Peter, wanted to flee into the dark trees. Peter’s arms tightened around him and Stiles started to twist and fight him. 

“Stop, stop, Stiles!”

Stiles let himself fall limp against Peter, looking over his shoulder into the tree line, face blank. Peter tilted Stiles’ head up with a hand on his chin to meet his eyes and he braced for the worst but Peter’s eyes were warm, his face glowing with tender affection. 

“How could I not love you, Stiles? I love you, I love you.”

Peter pressed kisses onto every inch of Stiles’ face until he relaxed and laughed wetly. He lightly punched Peter’s shoulder, sniffling. 

“You scared me, asshole.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I was shocked, grateful and deliriously happy all at once. Never doubt my love and commitment to you, Stiles. Never.”

They smiled at each other, enjoying the moment. 

Eventually, the smell of blood overtook Stiles and he turned to take in the remains of Jennifer. She was a pile of blood, limbs, a torso and viscera, covering the nemeton and the ground at their feet. Peter grunted, slinging an arm around Stiles’ back. 

“Where did her head go?”

Stiles hummed and began pacing around the nemeton, his magic lights following. 

“Oh, found it!”

“Good. Let’s get this cleaned up and go to the cabin. Our night is not yet done. I believe my dear sister is overdue a visit from her loving brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I had full intentions when I started this fic to have dark and sexy Peter. He went to murderous cinnamon roll very quickly. Not sure what that says about me...


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Get ready for fluff and HEA, baybee!

The moon was starting to peek over the trees when Peter and Stiles made it back to the cabin. Cora had scrounged around the cabin, producing warm flannel blankets and hot chocolate for her siblings. They sat huddled on the couch, mostly silent, sipping occasionally from their mugs. 

Stiles shuffled awkwardly in the doorway before excusing himself to clean up the evidence of come, blood and dirt that had stayed on his clothes and face. Could they smell Peter’s come all over him? From Cora’s grin and Derek’s shifty eyes, Stiles would say yes. Was there no privacy living with a pack? At least Stiles could switch on and off his increased senses, the wolves were stuck knowing too much. 

Stiles shook off his embarrassment and found Peter banging around loudly in the kitchen. The air around him was anxious and bordering on frantic. Stiles quickly crossed to him and wrapped him in a tight hug. Peter stayed tense for a moment before he allowed himself to relax and tuck his head into Stiles neck, huffing. Stiles felt Peter cling to his back and start to shake. 

“Peter, what’s wrong? Is this about what we did...just now?”

Peter leaned back abruptly, shaking his head. 

“No, sweetheart. I love being with you intimately. It’s…”

Peter glanced over at the three in the living room who were close enough to hear. He grabbed Stiles’ elbow and gently steered them onto the back porch, shutting the kitchen door. Peter kept a hand on Stiles but turned his gaze to the forest. 

“Having them here, I don’t know how to handle it. I want us so badly to be together, to be a pack, a family. I’m going to fuck this up, I know it.”

Stiles laid his head on Peter’s shoulder and brought his arm around Peter’s back to hold him. 

“You should be telling them that.”

Peter blew out a breath and shook his head. 

“I feel so lost. Everything that could change has changed and in just a few weeks. I went from having nothing to possibly having so much. If I don’t fuck it all up.”

Stiles turned Peter to face him and lifted his chin, forcing Peter to meet his eyes. 

“Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do. We are gonna go back in there and talk about how to handle Talia, she’s our number one priority right now. Then, after Talia, we are going to sit down and talk about this. With everyone.”

He leaned forward and kissed Peter tenderly. 

“No matter what, I’ll be right here, next to you.”

Peter laughed wetly and brought their foreheads to touch. 

“You are my greatest treasure and my most trusted ally.”

Stiles grinned, feeling warm and let Peter wrap him up in a tight embrace. They slowly made their way back to the others. The three of them still sat huddled together under their blankets and talking idly, clearing happy to be reunited. Peter sat in the chair across from them and Stiles went to kneel in front of Laura. Derek tensed, growling and Cora leaned over and smacked the back of his head. Derek blushed and sat back, not meeting Stiles’ eyes. 

“Sorry…”

Stiles smiled a little and shook his head. 

“I get it, dude. Emotions are a little high right now but I’m not going to hurt any of you without a super good reason. As much as Peter loves me, he would stop me at all costs. Really puts a kink in the plans I had for being a super villain and taking over the world.” 

Derek rolled his eyes so hard his head followed the action. Cora and Laura laughed and Stiles turned to see Peter stroking his chin, looking thoughtful. 

“I’m open to suggestions of world domination, sweetheart. But maybe after we get settled.”

Stiles nodded seriously. He turned back to face Laura and raised a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. She was still barely healing, covered in open wounds, trickling blood and dark black bruises. Stiles felt a deep anger surge through him. How could someone do this to their own child? Talia was out of control. He cleared his throat and stopped his thoughts before the others could sense how pissed he was. 

“Can I try something? I want to see if I can heal you or take some of the pain away.”

Laura bit her lip and looked over his shoulder. She had a silent conversation with Peter and then came to a decision, nodded her head, looking resigned. 

“I don’t like being a guinea pig but I need to be in better shape if we are going to see mom tonight.”

Stiles heard Peter shift in the leather chair. 

“We are ending this tonight. Let Stiles do what he can, if anything and we can discuss things after.”

Laura took Cora’s hand in hers and met Stiles’ eyes. She nodded again and closed her eyes, bracing herself. Stiles reached up to carefully take her face in both hands and closed his eyes too. He reached out with his senses and his magic, casting his net and reeling it in to analyse. Laura was in more pain than she let on, broken ribs, a fractured wrist and hip, bruises covering her whole face and left side of her body but Stiles sensed no internal bleeding. She had been completely brutalized by her mother and Stiles violently pushed down his anger. 

He hadn’t read much about healing magic, too focused on his earth magic but he knew intellectually that the two were connected, similar. With this in mind, Stiles reached out to Laura like he would with his trees, begging her body to purge the alpha toxin that kept her from healing. The attempt felt heavy and clumsy but he slowly felt the toxin respond to his urging. It oozed from her open wounds, a pungent black oil that made its way down her skin. Laura gasped as the last of it left and her body healed.   
Stiles opened his eyes and sagged back against Peter’s legs. Peter ran a hand through his hair, their bond humming with pride from both sides. Laura still looked shaky and weak but her aura was becoming more vibrant and she smiled at Stiles, a few tears escaping her eyes. Derek whined in relief, scooting closer to his sisters and Cora crowed. 

“Hah! Told you he was awesome!”

Laura reached out and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Thank you, Stiles. I...we owe you so much.”

Stiles shook his head, feeling hot and uncomfortable under the unbroken scrutiny of four sets of glowing eyes. 

“Nah.”

Peter tsked and pulled on his hair playfully. 

“She’s right, Stiles. Without you, I’d still be catatonic or dead...or wishing I were dead.”

Cora nodded seriously.

“I’d still be in South America not knowing these two idiots were alive. Mom would still be lying to me.”

Derek spoke quietly, almost too low to hear as if he were scared of speaking his mind. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap and he stared down at them, an anguished look on his face. 

“Mom would still be lying to us, too. About...so much.”

Silence followed his statement, the air heavy. Then he spoke further. 

“I don’t understand why she’s changed, if it’s her control failing with losing so much pack...or maybe it’s me. Seeing me every day, hating me. For what I did.”

Derek choked back a sob and covered his face, shoulder shaking. Cora looked confused and Laura was indignant. She twisted to face him on the couch and pulled down his hands to meet his eyes. 

“You didn’t do a damn thing, Derek! Kate abused you, she used you. She’s a disgusting psychopath who’s a master manipulator.”

Derek shook his head violently, tears pouring down his face and the anguish in his expression brought tears to Stiles’ eyes.

“I should have known, Laura. There were signs, red flags, I should have known!”

Peter stood and sat on the open side of the couch next to Derek. He gently placed Derek’s head on his shoulder and pressed Derek’s face into his neck. Derek’s shoulder continued to shake and he clutched at the front of Peter’s shirt like a child desperate for comfort. Peter stroked his hair, shushing him occasionally until his sobs quieted. 

“You were fifteen when Kate Argent started grooming you, Derek. Still reeling from Paige’s death, extremely vulnerable. I don’t blame you for the fire, nephew, I blame the pack.”

Derek made an incredulous noise but didn’t pull his face from Peter’s neck. Everyone else remained silent. 

“I mean it, Derek. We failed you, your mother and I. It was my job to look out for you, I should have paid more attention, especially after everything you went through. I was young and foolish, too concerned about my own affairs and bitter at Talia for treating me like a violent bomb ready to blow up at any second. That I wasn’t there for you, to protect you and consequently the pack, will always be my greatest regret.”

Cora and Laura inched closer to the pair, reaching out and laying hands on them in silent support. Derek finally retreated from hiding against Peter, his face determined. 

“I don’t blame you, Peter. But...mom did. That’s why she…”

Peter raised an eyebrow and gave a half smirk. 

“Banished me, even as I was?” 

Derek gave an awkward shrug. 

“Yeah.”

Peter gave Derek a real smile and sighed loudly. 

“Well, our family has gone through more changes and trauma than most. I think once we can breathe we should think about finding a very competent therapist.”

Derek rolled his eyes and gave a weak laugh but he looked brighter than before, a little lighter of his burdens. They were all still huddled together and Stiles was surprised when Derek turned to him and reached out. 

“Come on, you’re pack now too.”

Stiles stood, wide eyed and let himself be pulled onto Peter’s lap, curling forward and basking in the warmth of the bodies around him. He felt touched, witnessing this bonding and healing moment and honored to be included. Derek cleared his throat, shifting nervously. 

“This is us now, right? A pack again? I...want that. I mean-”

Peter shushed Derek as he tried to work himself into a nervous wreck. Stiles was starting to realize that maybe Talia had abused her children in other ways. Ways that made Derek so nervous and unsure, hesitant to speak for himself. Stiles sensed that the fire wasn’t a contained incident but the beginning of their living hell. Peter spread his arms out on the back of the couch, letting everyone snuggle as close as they could get. 

“This is us, Derek, for as long as you want. I’m not going to force you to join me. I won’t let Talia near you ever again, even if we all walk away from what’s coming in one piece. If you want to leave Beacon Hills, go to college or just travel, I won’t stop you. But you, all of you, will always have a home here, with me.”

Stiles felt it then, the new pack bonds. He could feel Laura and Derek and their happiness, their fear at confronting their mother and their trust and faith that Peter would be a good Alpha. 

They stayed there for a few moments, relaxing in each other’s warmth, feeling safe and content until the silence was broken by the front door behind them being violently kicked in. It banged against the wall and splintered from the impact, sending debris across the living room. The pack stood, the wolves half shifting from the shock, features more animalistic. They fanned out behind Peter, instinctively tucking Stiles in the back. Peter stood tall in front of the pack, eyes flashing bright and growling. The group tensed, ready for anything. 

Talia stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. Her eyes were red and cruel, an emptiness in them that sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. Had losing the last of her pack bonds driven her over the edge? The fevered, insane light in her eyes didn’t bode well for a peaceful resolution to this. Also, her violently dramatic entrance was telling. 

“Hello, sister. I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you.”

Peter’s voice was hard and his exposed fangs gave him a slight lisp. Talia stepped further into the room, not sparing Peter or Cora any attention, completely focused on Derek and Laura. Did she even recognize Cora? When was the last time she had seen her exiled daughter?

She spoke to Derek and Laura with a soft lilt, as if speaking to a spooked horse but her tone and intention didn’t ring true for Stiles. Her aura was lacking the golden warmth that Stiles associated with parental concern, having often felt it around Melissa and his dad. The energy around her was black, a deep, consuming void, her own darkness. 

“I was so worried about you two. Where have you been? Why are you here with Peter? Whatever he is telling you is a lie! He’ll fill your heads with sly deceptions. He has only ever been outrageously Machiavellian.”

Talia’s face was anguished but Stiles could feel her deception. 

“She's manipulating you, don’t listen to her.” 

Talia snapped her head to meet Stiles’ eyes with a furious glare. She stepped forward, posuring aggressively. Her presence and bearing was overwhelmingly intimidating, making Stiles want to shrink back, hide further behind his pack. He forced himself still, not cowering but afraid to move, enduring her alpha aura and flashing red eyes as she tried to force him to submit. Peter stepped between them, blocking off Talia’s line of sight and Stiles drew in a measured breath, mind reeling. Being on the end of an alpha’s rage was terrifying. 

Talia tensed and Stiles imagined she wanted to leap forward and tear into Peter. The effort to resist seemed too much for her and she dug her claws into the leather couch, ripping sounds making Stiles flinch. 

No one moved, waiting for Peter’s instructions, trusting him to know what to do. Stiles reached out his magical net, casting it over everyone in the room. Cora and Laura were cautious and wary of Talia but determined to oppose her. Derek was terrified, shaking subtly. Stiles sensed his guilt in going against his alpha and mother. Stiles hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

Peter was furious but tightly in control of his emotions and actions, bolstered by his humming pack bonds and the knowledge that he was the only thing protecting his pack from Talia’s destructive rage. Stiles felt a warm rush of pride for Peter, standing strong and defiant. 

All he got from Talia was a further impression of a deep, black void. It was consuming her, warping her mind and her actions. It projected a swirl of rage, defiance, loss and murderous intent. No matter that her words were conveying worry and concern for Laura and Derek, Talia had come to them ready to spill some blood. 

Peter met Talia’s gaze head on, not submitting. 

“You’re not welcome here, Talia. I’m happy to meet with you for a civil discussion on neutral ground.”

Talia scoffed loudly and sneered at Peter. 

“You talk as if this land belongs to you, Peter. This is part of Hale Pack territory, my territory. I’m the Hale Alpha and you...you are nothing.”

Peter shook his head slowly, his aura reflecting a soft sadness and pity for Talia. 

“Our father gave me this land and cabin in his will. It’s mine and you, Talia Hale, no longer have a pack. You’ve done nothing but abuse and deceive those you were meant to protect and nurture. You are no longer worthy of the alpha spark within you. Save our family further dishonor and pass the spark to me, peacefully.”

The pack stood silently, holding their breaths, waiting. Talia was frozen in shock for a moment and then she began to laugh, a mocking, grating sound. Stiles felt a sharp disappointment. Talia shook her head in disbelief, her shoulders shaking. 

“Give you the alpha spark? Oh, brother, how stupid are you? You may have manipulated these children who stand behind you into following your sad, pathetic quest to be Alpha but I’m not going to make it easy on you. I can understand your influence over my children but where did you find these ones?” 

Talia waved her hand in a loose, careless gesture at Stiles and Cora. Cora’s face morphed from confusion to horror to painful realizations and she stepped back in shock. 

“What the fuck?”

Her voice was a whisper and Stiles stepped close to her, taking her hand in his, pressing their shoulders together. Cora quickly brushed off her shock and hurt for pure fury. 

“You don’t recognize me, mother? You know, the daughter you exiled to another country. You told me Laura and Derek were dead!” 

Talia was still for a moment, tilting her head to one side. Stiles couldn’t tell if she was pretending to not recognize Cora or not. Talia’s eyes lit with understanding. 

“Ah, yes, Cora. Forgive me, daughter, for not recognizing you. You were so young when you left and you’ve changed so much. So big you’ve grown! So strong!”

Cora shook her head violently and pursed her lips together. Laura and Derek stepped back and closer around Cora, instinctively trying to protect her. Stiles could see their distraught faces from the new angle. 

“I sent you letters with pictures! Did you even read them? Do you even fucking care that I’m here?” 

Talia growled at the accusatory tone, snarling and flashing red eyes. 

“Don’t you speak to me like that, daughter! You should be grateful to me! I took care of you, all of you! You’d be nothing without me.”

Peter slashed his hand through the air. 

“Enough, sister. Leave them out of this. You have me to deal with me now and I intend to be Alpha Hale by the end of the night, no matter what I have to do.” 

Talia turned her glowing eyes back to Peter, smiling cruelly. 

“You think you’ll be a good Alpha, Peter? You’re nothing but a treacherous snake. All you do is make everyone around you suffer, you’re not worthy. I’m not just going to give you the alpha spark, you’ll have to take it from my dead body.”

Peter crossed his arms slowly over his chest and stood taller, prouder. 

“You don’t know me anymore, Talia. I don’t think you ever did. I’ll happily kill you for what you’ve done to our family in my absence. Face me Talia and fall.”

Talia gave him a feral grin and started backing out of the open doorway. 

“Outside, brother, winner takes all.”

When Talia was gone, Peter turned to the pack. 

“I need you to do what I say. Do. not. Interfere. No matter what happens, no matter who is on the ground. Got it?”

Derek looked pale and shaky and Laura put an arm around him, meeting Peter’s eyes.

“I....ok, Peter. I trust you.”

It looked a little painful for Laura to admit. She led Derek outside onto the porch, murmuring to him in a soft voice. Cora shook her head emphatically. 

“No way, Uncle Peter, no fucking way. I’m not letting her win and I’m not going to watch you get hurt.”

Peter smirked and set his hands on her shoulders. 

“It’s not going to be pretty, Cora, but I promise you, Talia’s tyranny ends tonight. If you step in, you could ruin everything and I don’t have time to explain. Now join your siblings outside, please.”

Cora pursed her lips, looking ready to argue more. At Peter’s unflinching gaze, she huffed and left, angry but resigned. Peter turned to Stiles and his gaze softened. He reached up and laid his warm hands on Stiles’ shoulders, placing a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. 

“That goes for you too, Stiles. I need to win this fight honorably. There will be many that only know me by my...tainted reputation. I don’t want the pack to suffer even more because of me.”

“Damn your honor, Peter! I’m not doing this without you!”

Peter smiled at his impassioned words. 

“If the worst happens, I fully expect you to avenge me. In fact, you should take the alpha spark for yourself, you would be a divine pack leader.” 

Stiles’ hands were shaking as he lifted them up and grasped Peter’s face in his. He put every ounce of conviction he possessed into his words. 

“Shut up, Peter. You listen to me. I don’t give a damn about your honor or your fucking reputation. You don’t need to change to be a good Alpha. This is our pack, you and me. If the others don’t like it, they can leave and if outsiders don’t understand, they can fuck off. You are going to get that alpha spark from Talia by any means necessary and you are going to live and be a damn good Alpha, do you hear me?”

Peter’s eyes looked misty and his face was tender as he leaned forward and kissed Stiles gently, reverently. When he drew back, Peter’s face was shining with determination and a little awe. 

“I don’t deserve you, baby, but I’m going to make you proud.”

Stiles laughed softly, embracing Peter and whispering in his ear. 

“I’m already so proud of you, Peter. So proud but you better fucking believe that I’m going to step in if you need me to.”

“Only if you think I’ll die. Righteous platitudes aside, I want to win this fight for myself, prove to myself that I’m strong enough, good enough for you...for the pack.”

Peter looked so serious that Stiles let the matter drop, not wanting to argue anymore. They were in the middle of the forest and Stiles had his powers to call upon if needed. Stiles vowed silently that there was no way Talia was walking away the winner. They turned as one to leave the cabin. 

Stiles stopped next to the others, all of them tensely standing on the covered porch, looking out at the front yard. Peter stepped out and stood facing Talia, stoic. Before he reached the bottom step, Talia launched forward and raked her claws against Peter’s chest, shredding the front of his shirt. Stiles grabbed onto the porch railing, wanting nothing more than to jump over it and go to Peter. The others were thrumming with tension and concern. The wounds were deep, blood pouring down Peter’s front to drip onto the moon lit grass. 

Stiles jerked his head up as the clouds passed over the sky and realized that the moon was full, shining brightly. Talia looked up too, seeming to bask in the beaming light. She brought her gaze back to Peter and smirked. 

“Oh, brother. You’ll never best me under the full moon. I’m too powerful.”

Talia took a running leap at Peter when he glanced up to take in the moon, trying to capitalize on his momentary distraction. She jumped and flew in a wide arc, twisting in the air and changing shape. When she came down upon Peter, knocking him to the ground, she was a large, black wolf. Peter’s hands flew up on instinct and he caught her jaws and pushed her back as she snapped and snarled, trying to rip his face and neck open. The length and weight of her body easily pinned Peter and they struggled until Peter roared, eyes flashing blue. They rolled until Peter was above her struggling form, his hands around her neck, claws digging into thick wolf hide. 

Stiles watched as they wrestled, half-man and wolf, neither gaining any true upper hand. Peter’s clothes hung in tatters and he stood, throwing Talia back. He then tore at what was left of his shirt and pants. He was covered in bruises and open wounds that bled freely and didn’t heal. Stiles found himself fighting to breathe and the others huddled behind him, pressing close, taking and offering comfort. They clutched each other and Stiles imagined they felt as helpless as he did. 

Talia paced gracefully back and forth, watching Peter with keen eyes. Peter roared and pointed a bloody claw at Talia. 

“I won’t let you win, Talia. You are no Alpha! You are a narcissistic abuser. I’ve never hidden my morally grey attributes, I face the world truthfully. But...you-”

Peter doubled over, curling around his stomach, his face a mask of extreme pain. He moaned loudly, clutching at himself frantically. He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. More than one of the pack cried out, confused and worried but Stiles held them back. Something was happening. Peter’s aura was swirling and changing. 

Talia didn’t hold back and she ran at Peter while he was distracted, leaping again to knock him down. He rose up before she could touch him, catching her in mid air by the throat and roaring in her face. She struggled, flailing, her back paws barely scraping the ground but his grasp held. As he spoke again, the muscles under his skin moved and flexed violently. 

“You hide the darkness inside you behind righteous words and lofty ideals. You crush those that oppose your reign of terror under your heels and feel no remorse. You’re no Alpha, sister, I’M THE ALPHA!” 

His voice rose at the end, a booming power behind his tone that Stiles felt in his blood. Talia whined and brought her back legs up to slash at Peter’s stomach and he threw her back, grunting. As she gathered her bearings, shaking her head, Peter crouched, back arching and bones popping. Talia growled and started running for him, eating up the ground between them. Peter grinned and began running on four limbs to meet her. They crashed together, wrestling and growling, a blur of black hair and deadly white teeth. They broke apart, circling, both deadly beasts in wolf form, both flashing bright red eyes. 

Laura gasped and Stiles looked over his shoulder at the three Hales behind him. Laura looked gutted, hand over her mouth, Derek had tears in his eyes and was clutching Laura tightly by the arm, Cora was grinning madly. Stiles met Cora’s eyes. 

“What? What the fuck just happened?”

Cora rocked forward on her feet and wiggled excitedly. 

“Peter is a True Alpha! Oh my god, this is amazing!” 

Stiles gasped and turned his attention back to the fight, exceedingly grateful that Peter had given him so many werewolf culture and lore books to read. 

“But...I thought only the most ‘pure’ wolves could become a True Alpha? Peter has definitely killed people.”

Laura cleared her throat.

“That’s what all the lore says but a True Alpha comes along only once every one hundred years. I don’t know anyone who has met one. Besides, Peter has more stubborn will than anyone I have ever met and he’s fiercely loyal. I’m not surprised he would do the impossible to protect us...his pack.” 

Stiles laughed, feeling light. The two wolves were still circling, both looking for an opening. They looked similar but Peter was more broad than Talia. Talia may be taller but Peter was noticeably more muscular and his wounds had healed with his transformation. Peter’s aura was patient, he had no problem waiting for the right moment to strike. Talia growled, losing her own patience and lunged for Peter. His guard was still up and he easily deflected her, tackling her down. 

They broke apart and flew at each other, moving too fast for Stiles to follow, attacking and growling viciously. They wrestled and tore into each other, blood flowing freely and leaving chunks of hair in the dewy grass. Talia’s reckless strategy was her downfall as Peter took advantage, pinning her down setting his teeth to her exposed throat. He didn’t hesitate to bite, tearing through hair and flesh, a fatal wound that wouldn’t heal. 

Derek and Laura were sobbing as their mother died and Stiles looked back at them. Cora was pale but she embraced her siblings as they mourned. She jerked her head to Peter and Stiles stumbled away from them, down the steps. Peter was human again when Stiles reached him and they both crouched over Talia, still a wolf, as she panted, her eyes dimming, her mouth open. Peter reached for Stiles and placed his hand over Talia’s failing heart. 

“Take it, baby. Take the alpha spark.”

Stiles gasped and tried to pull his hand back but Peter held firm, keeping Stiles’ hand over Talia’s heart. Her eyes weren’t focusing anymore, she was seconds from death. 

“No, Peter! I want to be with you, in your pack!”

“You will be-stop! Listen to me.” 

Stiles took in Peter’s face, the scars, the scratches from the fight, his beautiful blue eyes as he spoke. 

“I love you, Stiles. I’ll still love you whether you do this or not but imagine it, baby. Two powerful Alphas leading our pack...we’d be unstoppable. I still have revenge to seek, Stiles. Against the Argents. Why can’t we have family and power? This is a perfect solution.”

Stiles bit his lip, considering. Peter had listened to him before, pulling himself back from a dark, dangerous path to embrace a future with Stiles. Didn’t Stiles owe Peter the same consideration, the same trust? Peter was right that having two Alphas leading the pack would make them unspeakably strong, able to face any threat and flourish. He nodded and soaked in the radiant smile that Peter gave him. 

“Hurry, before it’s lost to us.”

Stiles closed his eyes, pressing his hand tighter against the wolf under him and reached out with his mind, searching for the vibrant aura the alpha spark possessed. It called to him seductively and Stiles gave himself over to it, drawing it to him. His magic wrapped around the alpha spark and absorbed it, diffusing its power throughout Stiles’ body. It thrummed under his skin, consuming his mind and aura, changing him, making him more powerful. Stiles opened his eyes, flashing them at Peter and Peter flashed his own red eyes at Stiles. Their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss and they whispered promises for the future into each other’s ears. 

***

Stiles groaned as he entered the loft and threw himself dramatically onto the couch, lounging with an arm over his eyes. The chatter in the kitchen paused and Stiles felt Peter’s presence come up beside him. He didn’t bother looking when Peter perched next to him and started rubbing Stiles’ temples. Stiles moaned loudly, body melting and he peeked under his arm to meet Peter’s amused gaze. 

“Headache, darling? I take it training didn’t go too well today.”

Stiles scoffed and closed his eyes again, breathing deep, inhaling his mate’s comforting scent. The past year had seen a vast growth of their pack. It wasn’t long after Peter and Stiles had become Alphas that they had started reaching out to the surrounding packs in California to start gathering allies. They made no effort to hide their anti hunter agenda and had become wildly popular for it. There was no shortage of shifters that had been wrongly hurt and killed for just being alive. It led to a stringent recruiting policy for the pack, taking in others slowly and carefully vetting any and all applicants. It was a full time job that thankfully Laura was passionate about. 

Derek and Stiles split the responsibility of training the pack, Derek teaching combat, defense and control. He was surprisingly adept at it even if he was grumpy and kept most pack members at arms length. Stiles took charge of any magical training and research that was needed. Currently, their pack had two druids and five mages. Between the shared Alpha abilities with Peter and the shared training abilities with Derek, Stiles felt stretched thin. 

“I think it’s time we got ourselves an emissary, Peter.”

Peter hummed and moved his hand down Stiles’ chest and stopped over his heart. 

“You’re right, baby. I think it’s best that you step into an Alpha role full time. I’ll reach out to the covens and let them know we are looking.”

Stiles blew out a breath and relaxed even further into the couch, feeling greatly relieved. Loud giggles filtered over from the kitchen but he couldn’t see around Peter. 

“More hopefuls?”

“Yes, a sweet beta wolf, Isaac, timid but strong, loyal and Cora seems quite taken with him. I think he goes to her university.” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t wait to tease Cora about her new boyfriend. 

“Shouldn’t you get back in there, Alpha?”

Peter laughed and leaned forward to kiss Stiles’ forehead. 

“I wanted to check on you, my love. Besides, your father and Laura are keeping him entertained.”

After the initial explosive fallout between Stiles and John when it came to light how much Stiles had been keeping from his dad, John had taken an active role with the pack. He was always interested, asking after everyone when Stiles met him for lunch every Monday. He stopped by sometimes to check in with Peter, touch base. Peter handled most of the packs networking, still searching for a right hand to appoint. They already had a left hand, one of the first wolves to join their pack, who made an excellent enforcer. Their pack, their family was really starting to come together. 

The only real regret Stiles had was drifting apart from Scott. Their friendship fizzled out once Scott went out of state to pursue becoming a veterinarian. Scott made new friends there and fell in love. Stiles never revealed the supernatural world to Scott and that left not much to talk about when they skyped on the weekends. They both had new, busy lives. 

Peter stood and tugged on Stiles, pulling him up to stand. 

“Come on, sweetheart, come say hello to Isaac. Then we can have lunch before meeting the wedding planner at two o’clock. Remember, it’s cake tasting day.”

Stiles groaned in mock annoyance but let Peter lead him toward the three people chatting and eating cookies. 

“Busy, busy, so busy.”

Peter chuckled and turned to kiss Stiles on the lips, lingering and working his mouth until Stiles melted into Peter’s hard chest. 

“It will all be worth it, baby, I promise.”

Stiles opened his eyes and sighed against Peter’s mouth. 

“Yeah, it will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos. How'd you like it?

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr, come chat](https://havok2cat.tumblr.com)


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